"You look terrible," explains the brother-in-law of a friend I was visiting at camp. He was leaving as I arrived.
"What was the first thing you thought of this morning?" I retort. "I don't know, you?" he replies. "I said thank you and felt fortunate to be alive," I respond.
My bicycle accident did not kill me although a scar now rests over my blood-shot right eye. But I'd rather be a ugly human than a beautiful corpse.