Possibly It's Best To Be An Only Child

When I was about five my brother was mowing with a push mower and I was being a brat asking if I could do it. There was a small slope in the garden; he said, "Here," and let go of it and I stuck my hands out to catch it and had the end of my finger chopped off.

When I was about six my brother accidentally-through-not-caring-where-his-sister-was whacked me in the head with a cricket bat. I can remember waking up in my parents' bed and looking out the window and thinking it was a different season.

When I was about six and playing with my sister, she, as an evil witch, pretended to cut me in half round the middle (where a belt would go). As an evil prop she used a British Marine's knife, sheathed - but the leather sheath stiching over the blade was gone so she did actually cut me a bit (scarred!).

When I was about eight and we were all swimming in the Pakradooni's lily pond, we had a plastic rowboat. As a joke when I was under water my brother kept me from reaching the surface until my lungs were bursting by moving the boat over me.

...etc., etc.

When E was a baby I dropped her - as I recall it I threw her up but didn't catch her.

When E was little she ran the hoover over my waist-length blonde hair as I knelt on the floor doing something, which was extremely painful. It would've been less so had she turned it off right away.

...etc., etc.

Labels: Dept. of I-Hate-It-When-That-Happens