Clit Stitches

When I was seven, I had an accident on my bicycle, which resulted in the mutilation of my clitoris, several stitches, and probably even deeper psychological scars… who knows.

True story:  It was night and the family was outside saying goodnight to my parents dinner guests.  I saw an opportunity to show off my sweet banana-seat bike riding skills (see pic, below),  sans training wheels, and I took it.

materialistzen.blogspot.com

Not so skilled, as it turns out.  Apparently, I had yet to master Bicycle Physics 201: When Rubber Hits Wet Grass - resulting in an untimely dismount that had my "big girl parts" meeting the pedal of my "big girl bike."  Have you ever heard the term: Bleeding like a stuck pig?  Because it applies to this situation.

I bounced off the ground like rubber and leaped to my feet, grabbed my crotch, and flew around the yard screaming my head off.  My pants looked like a scene from Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Long story average length and a few stitches later, I was "back to normal."

If "normal" includes scar tissue.

Maybe this somehow subconsciously explains my promiscuity during my 20's?  Maybe I wasn't even promiscuous at all, but a field scientist, researching the extent of the damage...

Point being, I'm a bit brain dead today, and my busted tragic bits was the best anecdote I could muster up.  I wish this story was some deeply profound metaphor for life, but it's just a story.  Unless you're hard pressed to make the connection that sometimes life sucks, sometimes it hurts and can be a downright bloody (in the English sense of the word, of course) mess; then, yes, this tale is a metaphor.