November 26, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
My brother, the cop, kept dropping his shorts all night.
See, last week he was working out in his shed, building a shelf. It turns out he sawed through his thigh with a circular saw. As in, SAWED THROUGH IT. Fifty stitches, ambulance ride, the whole ball of wax. Pretty, pretty blood spilled on the floor. It’s ok, though, ’cause even though he developed cellulitis from it? The scar will match the scar on his forehead where I pushed him into the fireplace when we were camping. And the scars on both arms when he was thirteen and fell through a plate-glass window (and nearly died). And the scar on the back of his neck where he was stabbed a few years ago. And all of the broken bones and concussions he’s had. He’s our frequent ER flyer in the family.
So he kept dropping his shorts to show everyone his scar. Ew.
I’m just glad it wasn’t higher up on his leg.