Me, Myself, and I

Messed Up Fingers

When I was six years old, my mom was asked to house sit for a friend over spring break.

She decided that she would and over that week, me and my brothers would stay with her.

For the most part everything went well. I watched Total Drama Island all day, and ate Coco Puffs.

One day over the week my mom decided to make pancakes for breakfast. Yum.

My brothers, being my brothers, played with their toys in the syrup and got them all sticky.

Later that day they got the great idea to pile all of the toys on the treadmill and watch them fall off the end.

Being the loving supportive sister I am, I joined them.

Great idea Ellen.

Then, we lined up all the toys one by one and watched them collect in a pile at the end of the treadmill.

One of the stupid toys, covered in sticky syrup mess, got stuck.

My brothers begged and begged me to grab it for them.

Being the loving supportive sister I am, I did.

And boy was the next few days a disaster.

My hand, got sucked under the belt of the treadmill.

And as the belt did what it does, and power of friction, it ripped off my skin.

I started screaming, naturally.

Saving the gory details, you could see my bone.

Long story short, I had to get plastic surgery to fix them.

But I have pretty wicked scars.

So I guess that a plus.