Scars are beautiful. That's the first thing that pops up in Google if you were to search "scars are." If scars are beautiful, consider me the Miss America pageant, because I've got quite the collection. An extensive neurological history along with a ruptured appendix, gal stones and two eye surgeries given me a few supposedly sexy souvenirs and has also left me personally responsible for most of the grey hairs on my parents heads. I've always wondered where that line is though, because through a little scar under the eye of some rugged, middle-aged man in a leather jacket and you have yourself one spicy specimen with just the right mix of debonair and dangerous. Put some slight bruising under the eye of a scrawny White kid and "Oh, what happened?" quickly turns into "What the heck did you do now?"
Every scar has a story behind it and every story needs a catchy title, so without further ado (a phrase I plan on never using again) here are some possible titles for my later in life memoirs that any laceration-laden lads and lasses can certainly use if they so desire:
- Peter and His Bedpan
- The Confident Boy in the Backless Hospital Gown
- The Great Gastroenterologist
- The Curious Case of the Herniated Belly Button
- Ruptured Appendix: This is Really the End
- Sled Jump and Stitches
- The Shunt Replacements
- The Lazy Eye Adjustment Bureau
- The Gallstone Council
- Scarhead
- Hydrocephalus Boy "M-m-momma say if I play football my head will explode."
In conclusion, scars are like 6-pack abs, getting them is not fun, but once you have them you are bound to get peoples' attention.
No comments:
Post a Comment