Pain and suffering

In the spirit of Christmas, I thought I would give a gift to the readers of Wizbang — a chance to laugh at me as I once again publicly humiliated myself.

I recently had an e-mail exchange with someone that put me in mind of an incident when I was a child. The town square of Lebanon, New Hampshire, where I was born, has a big wrought-iron fence around it. I was about four or so when I managed to get my head caught in between two bars and the fire department had to come and pry me out. Luckily, the fire station is adjacent to the park. The only permanent damage was some busted cartilege in my left ear — it’s very slightly deformed. I only wish it was on the top, so I could go for the cool Vulcan/Elvish look, but it’s on the side.

I wouldn’t say I’m accident-prone, but I seem to injure myself in rather unusual fashions. I’ve never broken a single bone (yet — knock on wood), but most of my trips to the doctor or the hospital result in being told “that’s the first time I’ve heard of that happening.”

To wit:

1) When I was 13 months old, I managed to pull a cup of boiling water down on myself, burning my left arm. I learned to walk in a cast, but still managed to come out of it with just a minor scar (and still left-handed).

2) I was about 3 or so when, while visiting some neighbors, I crawled under a bed and caught my face on a bedspring. I still have a tiny scar under one eye.

3) While playing Little League baseball, I was playing first during a practice. My friend was batting, and I told him to hit it to me. He did, and I caught it with my left eye. My mother rushed me to the ER, where they spent half an hour picking fragments of my glasses out of my eyeball. (I’m still left-eye dominant, and my vision is slightly better on that side.)

4) When I was about 15 or so, I had a couple of friends over. We were horsing around in the kitchen, and I showed off by sticking my hand in a drawer behind my back. I managed to shove a meat probe right between my index and middle fingers, impaling myself about an inch or so. I still recall the lovely arc of blood spurting out of my hand as I held it up, wondering what stung.

5) Several years ago I was tired and flopped rather forcefully on to my bed. A bedspring broke loose and drove itself up through the mattress pad, fitted sheet, my sweatpants, my shorts, and into my derriere. I refer to the incident as my “posturepedically-perforated posterior.”

6) A couple months ago I visited a bank which had a set of guide railings about 6″ long and 34″ off the ground (which, on me, is a little below waist height) — kind of a brass croquet wicket on steroids. I turned around quickly to leave without noticing the end post and… well, I’m sure you can figure out the rest. I’m amazed I managed to stay standing, let alone walk out and return to work.

J.

Have A J. Crew Christmas...
Merry Christmas, ACLU! Part II

9 Comments

  1. E. Nough December 26, 2004
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