When Bad Things Happen to Good Fingers

I am a big baby and I don't handle injuries well. So imagine my horror when, while taking out the garbage, I caught my index finger in the heavy duty gate latch that surrounds the dumpster. I was stunned, both sides of my finger gouged and bleeding, as I tried to figure out what to do next. If I stayed at home to tend to my wound, I'd be late for meeting my friends. Also, my car was running in the parking lot illegally while I was loading it up for a weekend out of town. Oh, the conundrum. Picturing myself running it under the tap made my skin crawl (no pun intended, since it looked like it really was crawling), so I did the only thing I could think of in my state and wrapped it in a washcloth and drove to my friends' house. The entire way, like a big baby, I tried to think happy thoughts but would suddenly be jolted back to reality by a sharp pain in my damaged finger. I actually moaned out loud several times during the drive, trying to keep it elevated the entire way and wondering if any other drivers thought I was giving them the finger. Really I was only giving myself the finger for being in a hurry in the first place and allowing it to happen.

When I got to Tom and Karen's, they ushered me to the sink where I rinsed the new gaping flaps in my finger under the tepid water. No fun. Then Dr. Tom and Nurse Karen went to work, wrapping it in gauze and tape and shoving me in the truck so that we could get to the bar and I could enjoy some "medicine." It's really not that bad of a wound, but being a baby, I am appreciative that my peeps could help me out in my time of need. I think I'll play the piano after all. Once I learn to, that is.