Shin Stigmata

On this past New Year's Eve, Kristin and I had the privilege to enjoy one of those wonderfully random evenings that inevitably ends in Kristin and I falling asleep on the couch after booty dancing to Beyonce. I chose to idiotically wear painfully hot shoes which plagued me the entire evening although I still swear that they never hurt me before. The next morning I awoke to find a pain in my shin. Upon further inspection, I found a deep, but small gash in my leg. Kristin still maintains that I stabbed myself in the shin with my own shoe. I somehow find this doubtful. My dad thinks that perhaps I shouldn't drink so much that I can't actually say that this isn't the case. Either way, I cleaned myself up and forgot about the supposed stabbing.

It is now the 6th of March. I still have a sore, deep scar. I mean, honestly! I was in church this morning thinking about lent and sacrilegiously thinking that I bet my shin hurt like when they put nails in Jesus' feet. I mean, what is a 6 inch stiletto, but a blunt nail wrapped in pretty black material? My older friend, Nora, saw me looking at my scar and asked, "What's that from?" I resisted telling her that I was unsure as I had been in a drunken stupor and booty dancing to Beyonce. So instead, without thinking, I replied, "Someone kicked me." Ah, yes, that was so much better than blaming it in an endtable. She asked why someone would kick me hard enough to scar. So I said, "Um... she was drunk." Nora smiled and looked back to the preacher who was busy preaching.

After church, we all have tea and biscuits (no, really) and as I was saying my goodbyes to my church friends, she said, "You kicked yourself, didn't you?" Realizing that Nora would understand, I said, "I really don't know. The drunk part was true." She told me she missed college. I didn't have the heart to tell her that this happened when I was an official, graduated adult.

So while my scar doesn't spring forth with holy blood, it does pain me by way of its fateful explanation. I am doomed to wear pants for the rest of my life. Or at least until I think of an appropriate story to go with it.