so then we grew a little

Four scars:

1. Left thigh, outside: party at my house the summer I was twelve. I wore sandals that were a size too big for me to impress a boy who didn’t like me anyway, because I had braces and was generally wretched. I didn’t impress him. I did, however, eat concrete and bleed buckets.
2.¬†Upper left arm, inside: bite from Catherine C’s dalmation, whose name was Sparky, third grade. I closed my eyes and screamed at the top of my lungs and just stood there, which is telling.
3. Right thigh, top: accidentally walked into a pair of scissors that I left on my dorm chair, pointy end out. My friend M was on her way to pick me up for staff meeting and I opened the door with my jeans around my knees. “You must have really scared yourself,” she told me, and when I asked how she knew she said, “You’ve never let me see you in your underwear before.”
4. Right hand, fleshy part: demon cat, my parents’ house, eleventh grade. It blew up to the size of an inflated surgical glove. My hand, that is. Not the cat. The cat is still alive and I still do not like to be in the same room with it unless I am wearing galoshes.

Three supposedly fun activities I find hugely boring and/or stressful:

1. bowling
2. mini-golf
3. go-karts

Two words I never, ever spell correctly on the first go:

1. rhythm
2. lavender

One thing I would like to say to a person who is not you:

1. Quite seriously, what in the hell are you after with me here?
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