My Finger Is Lucky To Be With Me Tonight


I was loading the dishwasher this morning, which is nothing new.  I have to load it every day, so that we can have clean mugs for homemade chai lattes and coffee.

Not every day is a Starbucks day, despite my best efforts to see that dream become a reality.

When I went to toss a cup into the top rack, my left index finger collided with the metal track that the top rack slides in and out on.  My very first thought was, “BHDWDJJSDLKJ!”  I’m telling you; it hurt.  It hurt like Hades had just opened up and shot ninja stars out.

And then I realized that WHO’S BLEEDING?  SOMEONE IS BLEEDING!  SOMEONE IS BLEEDING OUT!  That was, of course, me.  The metal track had successfully sliced my finger wide open, and I was pouring forth more blood than has been seen in any series of plagues.

I needed stitches.  I needed morphine.  I needed my mom.

I spent the next I DON’T REALLY KNOW HOW LONG sitting on my sofa, applying pressure and discarding Bounty paper towels when they simply couldn’t hold any more blood.  I texted Hubs with my right hand; I wanted him to be aware of my injury, so that he would understand why the house continues to look like a tribe of wild pigs lives here.

He called me back and said, “No stitches!  Stitches are cosmetic!  A real man would just use duct tape.”

Yes.  I’m missing that part that is labeled REAL MAN.  I like doctors and needles and thread and a little pill that makes Mama need to lie down and rest to recover from all the trauma when trauma happens.

And do you know what I’m doing right this second?  I’m typing this blog post, and my finger has reopened behind it’s bandage.  I’m creating an ugly mess on my Apple’s keyboard, and I know who is going to have to clean it up.

Snow White.

I just wish she’d clean up this place after the Seven Dwarfs went through it while she’s at it.

In my strong desire to not create too much additional work for Snow White, I’m giving up blogging tonight, to preserve the white color of my keyboard.

And I’m going to take an ice cream sandwich to the sofa and call it a night, people.

But don’t worry about me.  It’s just a flesh wound, and Hubs cooked dinner tonight.  Bless his heart.

Y’all have a very merry THREE-DAY WEEKEND!  We’ll see you back here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated on Monday night, so that you can listen to me gripe about the audacity of the school system’s administrators to think that going back for four entire days after Memorial Day was a wise idea.

I have nothing left to pack for lunches.  And by nothing left, I mean NO MOTIVATION to cram anything even remotely healthy into a lunchbox.

It’s probably because I nearly severed my left index finger today.

Carry on.

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