I must've been 4 years old at the time.
It me, my mom and my little sister. I don't remember the context, except that we were on the floor and my mom was fussing over Gemma. For some reason, the only light in the room is the single-bulb lamp on the floor, the shade tilted towards us. My mom warns me to not get close to the lamp and I ignore her because, really, I was four, not stupid.
At one point, I lean forward to look at something and sit back on my heels...and promptly burn myself in the process on one, stupid lightbulb that is apparently not as stupid as me. I cry and become excessively indignant and hysterical when my mom admonishes me because Ihaveaboobooandthisisnotthetime to chastise a four-year-old having a freak out moment.
The years have passed and the scar has largely faded, looking more like I pressed an overly-light foundation pad to my skin as opposed to having the site singed almost two decades ago. Funny how you can experience the worst pain in an instant...and, years later, have to struggle to remember how it even happened.
