There is a small dent on the bridge of my nose, barely visible beneath the nosepiece of my glasses. This mark used to be much more pronounced, but has thankfully faded in time. The story goes thus:

As a young child, I attended a day care service after school, where there were upwards of thirty children, all often rowdy after waiting for their parents to pick them up. Now, for some reason there was a pool table in the center of the bigger of the two rooms, for reasons I cannot fathom. Yes, please, endow young children with tools of destruction. At any rate, one aggrieved child took it into his head that, after engaging in an argument with a fellow, what could be done but to fling the pool triangle haphazardly at the offensive party? The shot went wild, and after much panicking on the part of the councilors, I was calmed and taken care of. I bear the physical evidence of the occurence to this day.