The Cold Shoulder

Most folks who know me are aware of a pretty significant scar I have on my right shoulder. People don't generally know how to react when they see it. I like to think that they're fascinated by the one part of me that isn't gorgeous, but let's not get delusional.

A complete stranger actually said this to me last Friday:

"Did you get shot or something?"

Wow. So, of course I said yes.*

- I shall now refer to the stranger as "Doo-doo Head." "DDH" for short -
DDH totally believed me. He asked for more details, and I dramatically whispered I couldn't talk about it. DDH then said, "well, we're glad you're alive," to which I replied "so are my parents."

What a DDH.

I'm sure it was his clever way of making conversation, but guess what? The truth is, I really don't want to talk about it. Scars don't generally come from happy, painless experiences, and sorry Mr. Standing Behind Me in an Elevator, it's none of your business. Let's talk about why your girlfriend dumped you instead. See?

I think my second favorite is when they touch it while saying, "what's that?" Especially when we've just met. It doesn't feel good. It hurts. It's invasive. It's like me putting my finger up your butt, and not all gentle-like. It's not appropriate. If you get the urge, punch yourself in the throat.

I guess I'm just amazed that someone could be so insensitive. I guess we can't all be gracious! Poor slobs.

*I wasn't shot. I'm not that cool.