I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans, and started painting with the marker. We're talking real, original, magic markers here -- none of this hi-liter nonsense. Back then real men used straight-from-the-hip, fumey, permanent, magic markers -- the kind that would make you light headed if you got to close to the felt. [Undoubtably there are still toxic chemicals floating around in my body from this episode.]

I got as far as just below my knees on both legs before the marker ran out. At this point my brother and his friend had had their fun and retreated to avoid any possible backlash from the Parental Authorities. I too then lost interest in the project. Unfortunately I discovered that when I tried to put my (white) socks back on they turned green from the ink. I opted to go barefoot for a while rather than have to explain green-stained socks.

My next project was to work on my back yard tree house. For this I needed to trim down some plywood, so I grabbed the hand saw from the garage and went down the (outside) stairs to the basement, barefoot, where I had previously left some wood, and where there was a work bench.

Because I was really small, I could not saw in the normal manner. Instead I had to stand on the corner of the workbench and hold the wood with my feet while standing on top of it, and saw. Ordinarly this was not a problem, but because I was, of necessity, doing this barefoot, my toes were splayed out farther than usual and through a minor miscalculation I cut off my little toe.

Well, I should say almost cut off my little toe, because it was still hanging on there by some skin and whatever they put in there just under the skin.

Hmm. This wasn't in the plan.

I grabbed my toe, and the rest of my foot, and, holding everything together hobbled back up the basement stairs on the knuckles of my one hand, and my other foot, into the house.

"Mom." (She was reading.)

"Yes."

"I cut off my toe."

"Oh. Let me see it. Yep, you sure did. I guess we better go to the hospital. By the way, why are your feet green?"

We all got in the car, including my criminal brother, and drove to the emergency room.

When we got there, my mom explained that I had cut off my toe with a saw. I was directed to hobble into the surgery and sit on a white-sheeted table in preparation for having the toe sewn back on. A nurse came in with a bucket of soapy water to clean me up in preparation for getting the stiches.

By this time a lot of the blood had drained out of my lower leg, so it had turned yellow underneath the green marker. On top of this there was bright red blood all over everything. I thought it looked pretty cool.

When the nurse turned around and saw my green and yellow leg, covered with blood, she dropped the bucket onto the table and said,

"AAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhwwwwwmmmm,"

...letting all of her air out in a kind of reverse gasp. She ran out insisting that the doctor come immediately . I was hoping for a similar reaction from the doctor, but he just looked at my foot, unperturbed, and said,

"Hmmm. It looks like you've painted your feet green and cut your toe off here," as though he saw it every day. (And probably, he did.)

So he sewed my toe back on, and I got to eat ice cream in bed when we got home.

Although that toe was a real sucker for about three weeks, at least I have this story to tell.