When I was around 8 or 9, mom told me to take out the garbage. It was already dark and cold outside so I of course was procrastinating... which pissed mom off a bit. Reluctantly, I grabbed up the trash bag and headed outside. The thought had never crossed my mind that something might be lurking inside that trash bag that would try and gut me like a fish...not that I pay attention to shit anyway. I barely got two steps out onto the driveway when BAM, a tin can lid sliced open the inside of my ankle. How the hell it got the INSIDE of my ankle I dont know, much like most of the bruises I have on a daily basis.
Mom was already pissed off at me so I was very hesitant to go get this blood gushing wound bandaged up. I sat in front of the doorway to the bathroom, where she was on the throne, just staring at the door. I sucked it up and took the verbal lashing she dished as she victoriously doused the wound with peroxide and gave me a bandaid.
Damnit. I still had to take out the garbage. Limping back outside, I grabbed that damn bag, went to throw it in the can and on the way up, sliced the other side of my ankle. WTF. This time, feeling more like a dumbass than the time before, I heistated even longer outside her throne. Our hall closet was right next to the bathroom and had no door. I nonchalantly stook my ankle up against a blanket and let it bleed all over. I heard the toilet flushed and panicked. Ran to my room and just let it bleed.
So now...not only do I have two scars on my ankle, but I also have a BIG fear of tin can lids. Those things MUST be stuffed into the can and stuffed into the middle of the garbage can OR if I save the tin can for a craft project, i find some other piece of trash to wrap the damn thing in...and I DEFF hold the damn garbage bag a foot off to the side when I carry it.
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