Never get between a woman and her food.

I have a scar.

Several of 'em, actually.

My theory on scars is this: they're cool. A road map of sorts.

One of my scars is pretty visible.

If you study hands.

My ring finger. Left hand.





"Member how I got this scar?" I asked Apes after she questioned why I was taking photos of my hand.

"Um..."

I could tell she knew she should know the answer.

"I was a kid. Does that help you remember?"

"You were cutting tomatoes?" it was a question. No. It was a guess. "And your mom told you not to play with knives?"

"No. Huh uh. Glad to see my maiming myself is of so little importance to you."

She just laughed and wanted me to tell her of my pain. Again.

I told her she'd have to read the blog like everyone else.

How I got this scar tends to make people laugh.

It also explains why you should never get in between me and my food.

I was three years old and clearly underfed at my day care.

Snack time was over and my pleas for more wafers unanswered.

So I did what any toddler faced with starvation would do.

I waddled over to the kitchen door.

It was steel and propped open with a block.

I slid my tiny little fingers around the door, gripped tightly and kicked the block out of the way.

The door slammed shut. Too heavy for my twig arms, too fast for me to move all my fingers out of the way.

One got caught.

According to my mother, the tip of my finger was, well..."hanging on by a thread."

The emergency room docs had to strap me down in order to sew it back on.

A week later, it got infected.

The procedure repeated.

My parents were told if it got infected again, the top portion of my finger would need to be amputated.

Thankfully, that wasn't necessary.

There's something so un-sexy about having a wedding ceremony and a ring wrapped around my stump.

My finger healed and a nail even grows.

It's a ragged nail and one that enthralls people every time I get a manicure.

Needless to say, not a single member of my family overlooked the irony of my dog Rosie losing an eye in an attempt to protect her food.

Girls in my family, we're hungry bitches.

Got the scars to prove it.