remember: chicks dig scars

Some things are clearly meant to be - I was half-tempted to share a couple of personal "accidents with blades" stories as part of the magic regenerating finger post of a few days ago, but couldn't be arsed in the end.

However, the appearance of this pair of posts prompts me into action, finally. Not that I have anything particularly exciting to share with you, certainly nothing as good as the Pharyngula commenter who has "minor ocelot mauling scars". If there's one thing chicks dig more than scars, it's ocelot mauling scars. No word on whether or not he was titillating the ocelot at the time, sadly.

Anyway, my paltry collection of duelling scars comprises the following:

• A strange gristly lump in my lower lip from where I had a couple of "soluble" stitches put in it after executing a graceful dismount from a climbing frame in the garden and landing on one of the metal bars with my face.
• Probably the best one of the lot: an inch-long furrow on the right-hand side of my head from playing the jumping up and down on the bed game with my sister in a remote holiday house in the south of France when I was about ten, and having her chin connect with my skull at high speed. It could probably have done with about four or five stitches, but it didn't get any, as we were in the middle of nowhere at the time. I seem to remember a makeshift dressing being constructed from one of my Dad's handkerchiefs and some sticking plaster.
• Another scar further back on the same side of my head from running into the corner of an open metal-framed window at high speed. Probably a similar-sized initial wound to the previous one, but this one got four stitches, so the scar isn't as noticeable.
• A small triangular scar on my left index finger from attempting to cut up carrots in my ex-girlfriend's flat with a really blunt serrated knife, and instead cutting a nice neat flap of flesh out of my finger.
• I also used to have a three-inch scar across the back of my right thigh from slipping on some wet grass while attempting to climb over a barbed-wire fence, but I don't know if it's there any more - I don't see the backs of my thighs all that often.