Thoughts.com Blogs - Krusty Demon I am not

I split my lip open on a bicycle wheel. It didn't happen while I was riding the bike. I was trying to load this bike into a truck, which is a simple task for those people not serving under the curse of clumsiness.

I lifted the front wheel and (trying to look stronger and more capable than I am), I heaved the rest of the bike into the truck. I’d almost succeeded, until the curse kicked in and decided to suddenly fling the bike’s handlebars around at me and smack me across the face like I’d just said something dirty.

As a reaction to being walloped, my lip burst open and immediately dribbled copious amounts of blood down my chin. Every single person who saw me afterwards suddenly became a medical expert offering their opinions about how many stitches I’d need to sew my face back together.

“Oh that’ll need a stitch or two!” “Oh you better get that looked at!”

So I went to the Dr who unfortunately for me agreed with the other Doogie Howsers and sewed me up with 3 stitches.

Now when you see someone with a bandage on their arm or their leg they look tough, like a real trooper who’s endured some type of pain or suffering...

It’s very hard to look tough with a piece of white cotton wool stuck to your top lip... It doesn’t quite command the same amount of respect.

People look at you like they do when there’s a booger hanging out your nose: not quite sure if they should acknowledge it in case you don’t know it’s there or if they should just carry on talking and occasionally glance at it. Of course I know it’s there! I can’t feel it because of the anaesthetic, but I am aware I look like I’m in the middle of a lip wax!

Not long after this happened to me, I heard about a motorcycle rider who slid off his bike under a semi-tailer and has his foot run over. This poor bloke had the innards of his foot squeezed out between 2 of his toes like cream from an icing bag.

So I stopped feeling sorry for myself with my 3 stitches. That was until I heard that the motorcycle man had a grand total of 5 stitches in his foot. To me, this represented an extra bucket-load of humiliation: I, who was stupid enough to put her face in the path of an angry pair of handlebars needed only 2 less stitches than someone who defies death and slides under a semi-trailer like a crusty demon!