Landmarks on the Body

If the body is a map, then I guess a person's scars could be considered landmarks or points of interest. Regardless what they're called, a network of scars is like a thumbprint. Something utterly unique that identifies this person as me. The first scar I remember getting was from when I was in Girl Scouts, and my mom was the troop leader. During one of our meetings, we were getting a primer in the use of a pocket knife, and my mom distinctly told us to be careful. Not five minutes later, I'd cut myself on the pad of my left middle finger. I don't remember how it happened, but it might've had something to do with me trying to be rebellious because I think I'd already figured out that being a Girl Scout wasn't cool. The next year, I quit. The scar above my lip is from the summer I went rollerskating with two of my cousins. Up to that point, I could probably count the number of times I'd actually gone skating on one hand so why we strapped on our skates and headed for the "hills" I will never know. What I do know is that halfway down a really steep hill where the pavement was "grooved" to slow down cars, I realized I had no idea how to stop and ended up using my face as a break. I left the hospital with 13 stitches. I have a faint scar on my right inner wrist that could be mistaken for a misguided attempt on my life, but even though I was in high school at the time, I didn't try to slit my wrist... at least not on purpose. It happened after a football game, and I was a cheerleader who needed to get my stuff out of a locker, but the gate to the school was locked so I climbed the fence. On my way over the top, I snagged my wrist on a curved metal barb. A year ago I, unwittingly, got caught in a cat fight (Dudley kicks ass by the way), and one of the cats ripped open the skin on my right thumb. My knee-jerk reaction was to call my parents who told me to go to the hospital, but instead I went out to dinner with a friend. It's a big scar so I definitely could've used stitches. There are two scars on my upper left arm, and I tell people who ask that they are bullet wounds. They aren't. They're places where I had moles removed by an overzealous doctor. Finally, the scar on my left knee is so new it's still pink. It's from when I crashed my bike a few weeks ago. The point in revealing all this? Well now if you encounter a doppelganger who pesists in telling you she's me, you'll know to check for the landmarks on her body that prove otherwise. Brilliant.