However, those old men with battle wounds are BAMFs who got those wounds committing various acts of derring-do. They have that bad knee that acts up when it rains. The itchy trigger finger when they think of all them Nazis (pronounced, "Nazzies") they did in. Faded tattoos that rest on now wrinkled skin.
I'm not comparing myself, by any means. I am not, nor shall I ever be, at the same level of those men. I have never committed any wanton acts of bravery. I don't even have any tattoos. All I have is one scar. Obtained through very modest means.
(Actually, being as graceful as an epileptic rhino, I have many scars, but we won't talk about those. At least not today.)
I have a scar on my lower back, a few inches to the right of where a tramp stamp would go. A scar that, ever now and then for some inexplicable reason, will itch like CRAZY, despite the fact that it has long since healed.
How did I get such a scar, you ask?
Watch. And cover your ears.
All those people watching are seasoned CHP officers. I can easily say it was one of the worst 5 seconds of my life. Not so much because it's painful (though it is), but because even though you are completely aware of everything going on around you, you can't do a damn thing about it. I remember screaming (inside my head), "Stop screaming. Shut UP, dammit. They are going to make so much fun of you when this is over. Wuss. You suck."
When it was over, what you can't hear is me laughing hysterically as soon as the ride ended. It was funny, yes, but I was so full of adrenaline I couldn't help but giggle like a moron.
The alligator clamps were attached to a belt loop on my jeans and the top of my right shoe. Both clamps left blisters. The ones on my foot disappeared, the ones on my hip did not. Every now and then, it will itch. Especially when there's a lot of static in the air...
