Already Tuesday?!! That means at least two good things: it’s not Monday anymore, and it’s TRUE STORY TUESDAY time!
Y’all know the rules… write your hilarious, amazing, outrageous, miraculous and (mostly) true story and link it up here for some comment love! Heck, you’ve probably already written about that crazy family legend that gets retold around the dinner table every reunion, right? So grab the code under the TST button on the right sidebar, throw it into your post, and come back to add your post link. (Please be sure to click your actual post title, then copy and paste the link to the post itself… we’ll lose you if it’s just your regular blog address :)
This week brought to you by the woman who manages to injure herself in inventive ways each week, purely for your entertainment, of course!
What can I say? I’m a klutz.
I once got so many injuries in a short span of time, that the cute guy at the Emergency Room looked this 7-year old in the eye (as he stitched my head), and said,
“You know, you can just come by and say hi… you don’t have to hurt yourself…”
It started young. Really young.
At 18-months, I displayed my incredible talent for incurring the most disparate injury for the tiniest fall. I broke my wrist while attempting the one step step in front of the house.
As my great-grandmother liked to tell it, I was a tiny little thing, but I wasn’t dumb.
At the Emergency Room, they got me all doctored up and good as new.
Until a nurse stopped my mother upon our checkout and inquired:
“Oh, did she break the other one too?”
I know what y’all are thinking.
Nooooo… I’m not talented enough to break both wrists in one trip.
But I am smart enough to give ‘em the one that doesn’t hurt when they ask me to show them my arm.
That’s right folks. Thankfully they hadn’t cut me open and left a cell phone in me or something… but they had managed to cast the wrong arm.
Out comes the pizza cutter, out comes the gauze, out comes the fresh plaster.
And let me tell ya, it ain’t no fun to spend six weeks gazing longingly at the kiddie pool…
(I broke my wrists twice more, is it any wonder my mother enrolled me in ballet? ;)
Come on, you know those dorky injuries make for great stories! As another sage ER doc once said,
“Scars are just tattoos with better stories.”
What’s your story? Join up and we’ll be around with some comment love!