As of last night I have a long gash on the inside of my thigh. The sort of scar I’ll show off proudly and attribute to a session of alligator wrestling, or something equally exotic and pulpy.
Like, that time I fought-off a horde of rabid mandrills, or something.
To further my author platform, you know…
In fact I was walking in my extra-cluttered bedroom, last night, on my way from the bathroom, when I was attacked by a wild Persian carpet, that was waiting in the dark to carry out its homicidal designs.
I stumbled on the carpet corner and fell, and crashed in a low IKEA table. The gash is the result of the IKEA table corner biting into my leg.
I was lucky. My room is so crowded with piles of books everywhere, that I landed on a nice thick padding of paperbacks. A few curses and some peroxide later, I spent part of the night picking up and piling up the books again.
I am happy to report that no humans nor books (nor alligators nor mandrills) were damaged permanently in the accident.