When I was a kid, there was this box with sharp wood corners on the bedside table.
One night, I rolled off the bed and the tip of one of the corners sliced straight across my cheek. And Boom. Cut straight through. 🔪 Then, I guess I got up and got back into bed. But since I was going through this phase where I was paranoid about dirty pillows, I sat back up again to make sure the pillow was clean... And lo and behold, there was this big dark stain. So I flipped it over, and put my head back down on the other side. Still, paranoid as I was, I had to check this new side: There was another stain.
By this point, I was suspicious. I got up and went to check my reflexion in the bathroom mirror. My right cheek was covered in blood. I cleaned it up, best I could, but I could taste the blood so I knew the cut probably went all the way through.
Then I went to my parents' room like, "☹ Mom, my face is bleeding." But they were too sleepy to really understand what I was saying, and told me, "Go back to bed, we'll deal with it in the morning." So I went back to bed, and we dealt with my bloody face in the morning.
The first thing that they asked me the next morning? 🤔
Oh yes that would be: "Why didn't you wake us?!"
Honestly, I was thrilled because getting stitches meant that I didn't have to go to ski school. 🎉 It's really healed a lot, though. Most people just think it's a dimple.