Owch
When I was 12 I was helping my Dad remove a big chunk of concrete so as to build a utility room. I was going at it with hammer and chisle (Be quite you dirty minded person) and not making great progress. My Dad, probably wanting to avoid me getting hurt, asked to borrow the hammer. No matter, I'd just smash the chisel up and down.

SMASH
SMASH
SMASHAGGGHER!

I was hitting things a lot harder than I though I was, as I discovered when the thing I happened to hit was the little finger on my right hand. Being a 'late bloomer' I screamed like a girl and franticaly grabbed my finger (Which was still attatched) and jumped up and down alot. My parents, becoming concerned asked what had happened. I showed them my finger, or rather the mass ammounts og blood which had been spewing out of it when I covered it with my hand.

Isn't it odd how things always seem to hurt more when there is blood involved. I began to cry, not an unusual thing I must add, for as well as being a late bloomer I also got upset easily. (I know, I see why people thought I was such a twunt now.) Granted though It was bloody painful and I imagine I'd still cry now, or at least whimper and dance about a lot.

My finger nail turned black and was pushed off as another grew underneath it. I now have a scar strectching from the fingernail to about halfway to the first knuckle. The adjacent finger carries a scar as well, where I was bitten by a rabbit. That time I just swore and felt rather peeved.
(JamesG, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 21:23, Reply)