Scars

It’s often we wear them as a badge of honour. Most certainly there’s usually a story attached, and unfortunately there’s almost always pain involved. I’ve got one about an inch wide and four inches long down the front centre of my left shin. This was from a swimming accident in my twelfth summer. A gash above my left eye directly perpendicular to my eyebrow needed stitches when I was five after attempting a seemingly death defying stunt my eleven year old sister could easily master. Me, not so much, as all I inherited was a permanent reminder of my stumble. When the movie Lion King was released, I was a bit intrigued, empowered, proud and at times embarrassed that the villain portrayed the same feature as I and was in fact even named for his trait. On the same token; while I like the name Scarlet, especially for a natural redhead, I could never surrender to actually officially giving a daughter this name; the short form is just too horrendous. Unless of course she is destined to be a street drug Lordess or something, but let’s not pre-plan anyone’s vocation here. Isn’t there a place in New York or somewhere called Scarsdale? That don’t sound pretty at all, you gotta admit. A recent chat with a colleague of mine prompted her to tell me a story involving a kitchen gadget, her fine prowess as a pseudo in-store product demonstrator and the succumbing demise of her ring and pinky fingers wrapped in very thick gauze. The purchase of this new gizmo called ‘the mandolin’ (which I might add does sound either malice like in its weaponry-esque tone or comes from a musical instrument origin, I can’t quite remember) or something of the sort that slices veggies julienne style, and in thin/thick slices, etc. prompted our dare devil bright star to destruct a cucumber sans the safety device suggested. Well, bubye layers and layers of skin including a hefty amount of finger nail. Now that’ll leave a mark. Upon suggesting she’ll likely be featured in a portion of this blog, she was quite excited I might add. It terrifies me greatly to envision the effects that burns leave on their victims. I have a hard time seeing it in real life, on film or in pictures. Psychics have told me I died in past lives in a fire; this makes sense. Tattoos to cover the after effects of mastectomy’s…brilliant. Marvelous technology that allows for laparoscopic surgery so as to avoid zipper like etchings on our skin, fab! Testosterone driven tales that include trophies boasting of milestones or rights of passage…whatever lifts your luggage. Whichever the case may be, whether it's scabs picked from chicken pox or a baby safe and healthy after an emergency c-section, the scars we gather throughout life are all part of our unique packaging. Be safe.

Toodles