A Series of Scars: Incident #3

Alright kids. Pay attention. This one is for you:

I was sitting in my bedroom one afternoon playing with matches (right away you know this isn't going to end well).  I honestly have no idea how old I was, though definitely old enough to know better. I sat there next to my bed holding the box of matches, looking around the room for something I could set on fire. Something that wouldn't go all crazy on me or explode and that wasn't attached to the main frame of the house. But I came up with nothing. Until I looked down at my rose colored carpet. BINGO.

I immediately got out a pair of scissors and snipped off a fiber from my carpet. It couldn't have been more than a 1/2" long or so, but I held it between my fingers and struck the match. As soon as I lit the piece of carpet fiber, it started to melt. I looked frantically around for something to catch the drip of polyester that would fall at any moment. But I was too slow. Before I knew it, the liquid carpet dripped down onto my leg and bored a hole about 10 feet deep into my skin.

The deep, circular burn mark was just above my right knee and hurt so bad I could have screamed. But I didn't scream. I didn't make a peep. I immediately acknowledged the idiocy of my actions and swore to myself that I would not say a word to anyone. That's the worst part about doing stupid stuff as a kid. If you end up hurting yourself, who are you going to go cry to? Your parents?! 

So there you go. Kids, if you do not learn from my idiocy here, I cannot be responsible for the failure that your life will become. When the grown-ups tell you not to play with matches, THERE'S A REASON. And the reason is: You're a dumb kid who's going to burn the house down. I know. I have the scar to prove it.