Stitches had been a dire necessity only a year before. Double-digit tallies of thread, sewn in by a doctor who looked like Mr. Magoo and smelled like mint peppermint patties. A stapler, wielded poorly by an astronaut. A luggage buckle, dropped by a handsome bellman. A concession stand, on the outskirts of a volleyball game. What happened there? Life happened. Aren’t I lucky?
What Happened There? (On Scars)