Don't piss off the babysitter.
This one goes way back. I think I was seven or eight. Maybe a little older. Definitely old enough to behave myself when I had a babysitter and three younger siblings home with me that night.
Our babysitter was our next door neighbor. To protect the innocent, I will call her Lena. I loved Lena something fierce. She was fun and awesome and pretty and popular. I idolized her. She introduced me to New Kids on The Block and Melrose Place and 90210. Which is why, I guess, I thought I could act like a little shithead.
I don't remember much about the events leading up to the main event, but at some point I made Lena mad. She told me to go sit outside. I walked to the door, and opened it. I stuck my hands in between the hinges on one side and swung my bony little ass outside. Lena came up behind me and slammed the door.
I screamed bloody murder. There was a mess of blood and guts and tears, and that's when we realized the tip of my right ring finder had sliced right off.
FUCKING SICK RIGHT! I can't remember anything after this. I have no idea where my parents were. Or Lena's parents. Somehow my Uncle Jeff came to the rescue and took me to the hospital. We couldn't find the tip of my finger, so I just had to deal with the stump. (It's not even really a stump. We're talking 1/2 of an inch here, maybe.) I know
After that, my finger ached something fierce when it rained. I remember one day I was at the park and hit in on the metal slide and it started gushing blood again. I convinced myself I had a life handicap and I was just going to have to deal. I think my finger is super ugly, but no one else seems to notice. And I have since made amends with Gena/Lena.
Oh, and my Uncle Henry found the tip of my finger a few days later.