Monday, December 08, 2008

2 digits down, 8 to go.

So the potato mandolin attacked finger continues to heal. Not to a point that I can remove the bandage or touch it without flinching, but I can see visible improvement. Remember, that's the left index. Last night, while cutting carrots for Piglet's dinner, I was cutting toward my thumb - I know, I know - and siiiiiiink went the knife into my right thumb. Shudder. I managed to avoid the ER on this injury, but come on! How many bandaids can one person wear? I look like I have some sort of phalange eating mange or something.

That reminds me, speaking of mange - there is also some sort of permanant rash under my wedding rings from too much hand washing. Maybe it's scurvy. Of the finger. So that sums up my hands.

I removed the bandaid from my knife wound this morning because it seemed to be doing better and frankly, I needed my thumb back. It's sore, but manageable. Over the course of the day, I kind of forgot about it. This afternoon, I took Piglet for a haircut since I can't cut it myself because a) I'm bandaged and b) I'd probably cut another finger off at this point. In we go to the haircuttery. I plopped Pigpen's car seat onto the floor and hefted Piglet onto the chair.

At this point, I noticed several people staring at me and the lady about to cut Piglet's hair said quite plainly, "You have blood on your face." My immediate thought was, "Oh my gosh. Adult acne strikes again!" but then I remembered my adult acne goes away when I'm pregnant or nursing. Couldn't be that. I peered into the mirror and had blood ALL OVER my face. Upon further examination, it extended to my shirt sleeve, Piglet's shirt sleeve and part of his ear.

Apparently, my knife wound had burst open under the pressure of carrying the 800 pound car seat and wrangling Piglet into the door of the store. I really could not be a bigger train wreck. I spent Piglet's hair cut swabbing myself down with wet Kleenex while the hairdresser snuck suspicious glances at me. She did not partake in my awkward self-deprecating conversation, but the 4 patrons waiting in line didn't mind staring at me, the walking bumbling blood bath.

I have to wear heels on Friday night for the first time in, oh...a year? Year and a half? Pray for my well-being.

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