Only story I tell too often is the one where I stab a kid with a fork.
I embellish it too. Make it sound more stabby than it was.
I got stabbed by a kid with a fork when I was about ten, and I clearly recall my first thought being "There is a fork in my leg. Why is there a fork in my leg?"
The story -
I was about ten, and my parents were buying a tow-hitch for a caravan, and as the resident childdlers in the situation, My sister and I were expected to play with the childeren of the sellers, which we did quite merrily. At one point, the little girl was pretending to cut me with a comb, and I pointed at that it wouldn't work, because that's a comb. So she replies "But I can cut you with this!" and pulls out a fork, and I'd gotten no further than objecting on the grounds that that indeed was a fork, and not a cutting implement, she STABS ME IN THE FUCKING LEG. I don't mean just kiddy playful stabbing, she sunk this fucker right into the base of the tines. And I just looked at it, thinking "There is a fork in my leg. Why is there a fork in my leg?" the pain not having kicked in from sheer surprise, and the virtue of not having moved yet.
My parents came into the caravan about 30 seconds later, to tell us it was time to go, and the first thing they saw was me sitting there, staring at the fork in my leg, and thinking. I noticed them coming in, and in an odd moment of clarity, noticed the looks on their faces, and said in my little 10 year old kid voice "I'm as confused as you are."