What I Need is Spider-Sense. That Would Rock.

In Eighth Grade, on the first day of summer camp, I was competing against another swimmer who said he could hold his breath longer. He won when I bashed my face against the bottom of the pool. I had a big pool-floor scrape on my nose all week.

The next summer, at a pool party, I went down a slide head-first, and did the same thing. This time it was more than a scrape: blood, snot, two black eyes.

I got hit in the face with basketballs probably ten times between my sophomore and senior years. Once so hard I bit through the side of my tongue.

Three years ago, I was walking through a parking lot when a ladder slid off the top of a truck and hit me right between the eyes. After picking myself up off the ground, I stumbled to my car where the rearview revealed a gash across the bridge of my nose and a face only the kids at Carrie's prom could truly appreciate.

And then, last night, I tossed a heavy box onto a hand dolly, only to see it tip forward and smack me in the face. You know, like Elmer Fudd stepping on a rake. And again, with the slice across the bridge of my nose, and the blood and the ow.

I'm gonna have to get a helmet, I think, and protective goggles, and maybe a welder's visor. My nose is already so jacked I can barely wear a pair of sunglasses (I have to bend them out of shape the day I buy them. If you tried them on, you'd probably be looking through both lenses with one eye. You heard right, ladies. Here's your catch.)

Oh well, maybe the extra scar will instill fear on the streets or something.