Maybe I should work on coming up with a better series of titles for these posts? Nah! These are fun!
I adore the scar in the middle of my tongue. It is a surprisingly pleasant reminder of my youthful experimentation. This particular one was an impulse to get a tongue ring. I think I really just wanted to feel what it was like to get my tongue pierced. The piercer placed it too far forward for my own daily comfort, though. It made me lisp horribly for months, and I did rip it while eating a crab rangoon a couple weeks after I got it. The top part of the piercing ended up becoming more of a slit and kept ripping. I think I got it checked out maybe 3 or 4 months after I had the piercing and the piercer sort of laughed at me and said that it would have to come out–no way it would heal up with the slit. So that left me one of the .0001% of people who end up with a scar from a tongue piercing.
I am constantly amazed by my “fight club” scar on the back of my right hand. That was a kitchen disaster: a great glob of hot oil got me as I was flipping something pan fried. I sported this quarter-sized gnarly scar for the better part of a year, but now it’s just a slightly darker area. The worst part of it has even smoothed out. You’ve really got to look for it.
I am deeply fascinated by the size of my rib cage. It’s surprising, given the size of my breasts and belly, but it’s actually kind of small: my bra band is just a 40. There’s not really even all that much fat across it. I think I would probably be a 36 if I lost weight. That just floors me.