I was 11 or so, on holiday, went horseback riding wearing shorts and thin socks. They set up my stirrups too low and as I held on to the saddle for dear life, one stirrup kept bouncing on my ankle for the entire afternoon.

My thighs chafed pretty bad, and I got an open wound on my ankle about the size of those souvenir pressed oval coins. I don't know what my dad was thinking, but he treated my wound with some cream and then wrapped my whole calf in plastic wrap every day for about a week.

The wound turned into an ulcer, I couldn't walk without limping. I had all these little pockets of pus on the edges which my dad had me squeeze to try and make them smaller. It did nothing except be painful.

I eventually went home to my mom - a nurse - who took one look at my leg and rushed me to a doctor.

The doctor then proceeded to vigorously clean my wound before dressing it. It felt like hot barbed wire, that really sucked.

I still have the oval scar on my ankle.

"What's the deal with wooden piers?"

Getting my shit together < the sweet embrace of the status quo

It's OK to admit it, this is a safe zone

Open the car doors, HAL.

On an unrelated note, check out this carrot I got at the supermarket

This would make an amazing Renaissance painting

Tl;dr: extra money makes people happier.