1. I had a very bad sunburn in high school, and as it healed I peeled off a 6x10 section of skin. I tacked it up on my bulletin board for at least a year.
2. Not only did I lop off Barbie's hair and dunk her upside down in red food coloring for a quickie dye job, I cut off her feet so she could stand. My Barbies did not require the silly plastic heels. My girls could stand comfortably barefoot. Except they had no feet. But they could at least stand on their own two ankles and converse naturally about Ken and Skipper.
3. I really like giving myself shots now. Not so much the first few years, but now it makes me feel competent.
4. When I was 15 or so, I began ovulating. I had no idea I was ovulating; I thought I'd been doing that the whole time I'd had my period (at least 4 years by then). I won't go into the details, but ovulating seemed to strongly resemble what I remembered happening during my first few periods (and believe me, I am sparing you from some powerful imagery here). Since it seemed I was having a whole new set of periods in addition to the regular ones, naturally I assumed that I had an extra uterus. (Don't judge. Not such a stretch considering I'd been born with an extra thumb.) At any rate, instead of asking Mom, I took it upon myself to hike down the street to the neighborhood Planned Parenthood and ask them to confirm my diagnosis. They tried to set me straight, but I was still pretty convinced my extra uterus hypothesis was more feasible than this weird "ovulation" theory of theirs. (As a coda, Mom, the County Supervisor for the government Unwed Mothers program advised me that I might not want to pop in and out of the Planned Parenthood office down the street anymore.)
5. When I make grilled cheese sandwiches, I don't butter the bread, but instead melt the butter in the pan and lay the bread on top of it.
(I know. Boring, you complain? Well, that's because Number Six is so perverted I want to give you a little boredom as a buffer.)
6. I could draw. And like, my heroine, Jane Eyre, I could draw from my imagination. About the age of ten or 11 the subject of my art was what I imagined people looked like having sex. I'm sure this is normal. I can imagine there have always been childish sketches of a man with an unnaturally long penis that bent like a Crazy Straw to get between the crotch of the naked woman standing at his side. Except, for some reason, I progressed from imagining sexual positions into thinking of the backstory, you know, how did those people get into those positions? So, I sketched out the machinery that must have been required for two people to get together. They were quite the Rube Goldberg devices, with giant wheels and sliding trays and ramps and such. Because God knows two people couldn't just be expected to walk up to each other and connect their body parts in that way without special assistance of some kind. Sadly for the sake of human sexuality, my inventions were always torn into the trash. I don't think my parents ever got their hands on any of my artwork, and if they did I do NOT want to know.