The two surgeries I've had have left noticeable scars, but other than that the only ones with any staying power have been from the fall where I sheared all the skin off my knee a few years ago (palm scars from that same incident have disappeared) and, weirdly, from a batik wax spill on my hand back in HS. Which has somehow lasted longer than the 2nd degree burn scars from a bunsen burner prank in college where I yanked my arm back through a meter-high column of flame.

The alfredo sauce story: I was in college. I heated up some frozen fettuccine alfredo in my microwave. As I was taking it out of the microwave, my hand slipped and I lost my grip on the plastic tray thing, and it all went tumbling to the floor. I sighed, grabbed some paper towels, and started to clean it up. Or, at least, I tried to, because the second my hand with the towels hit the puddle of sauce and noodles, I felt a zappy burning in my hand. When I pulled my hand back, there was a zig-zag red mark across my palm. I looked more closely, and I realized that the puddle of sauce had spread over an empty outlet on an extension cord, and the sauce had conducted the electricity through the puddle and into my hand.

Since I'm writing about her at the moment, I will note that Tammy Wynette had 26 major surgeries during her life.

Twenty-six! That shit's bananas.

Worst pain besides migraines may have been the anaesthesia for having my broken toe set. I should've just had them do it without numbing it, because the needles hurt like hell. Never having needles in my foot again (though the fact that it already hurt probably didn't help).

Not sure I have much in the way of visible scars though...broken bones, yes, but...

Hil, that is also shit-bananas WTFish.

But I expect no less from you.

Since I'm writing about her at the moment, I will note that Tammy Wynette had 26 major surgeries during her life.

I wonder how that compares to Liz Taylor, who also has quite the close relationship with hospitals.

I gave in, peoples. I decided to move at least one unit to the second floor (live in basement in the off season.) So I did.

Hey, sweaty, so while I'm at it...

AC humming in bedroom now. Not perfectly placed, lacks the perma-baffles and insulation tape, but it means I'll sleep upstairs tonight.

Please mock me. I got to June before.

My notable scar: my right index finger, which has a malformed nail and no tendon from the first knuckle down (the scar tissue is what lets it bend). Guess who's metalshop teacher forgot to give the safety talk about using pliers to hold pieces of metal against the grinding wheel? Guess who walked into class the next day loopy on codeine, announced "I'm never coming back, and you're giving me an A+" ?

the puddle of sauce had spread over an empty outlet on an extension cord, and the sauce had conducted the electricity through the puddle and into my hand.

Still wins on WTFery.

I have no particularly interesting scars other than the back surgery, the reason for which also coincides with my worst pain. I'm efficient like that.

This ranks up there with "electric shock from Alfredo sauce" on the WTFery scale.

Once I have a webcam and can skype, I'll gladly tell the story with visuals. It lacks something without.

But suffice to say, Columbine and Edleweis were pissed that their kids were taken from them (by Farmeress Smith) and fed by me every dawn. They each weighed about 300 lbs and in the middle of the attack, both reared up on their back legs, ran a few paces and hit me in the midsection with their 1.25inch thick skulls. I flew. There was a lot of blood. Trampling followed. Were it not for Farmer Smith and his trusty power-wash hose, the old girls might have killed me.