Hmm, as I typed that I realized it would make an excellent exclamation/interjection word. I opt for Yosemite Sam's "rackenfraken!" frequently, but "frankenfinger!" may get worked in there now, too.
I guarantee you I was saying more than that last night in the moment when I thought I'd pulled off the tip of my right pinky finger.
Only Tori can find a way to gash open herself hanging up the dishtowel on the oven handle.
The handle is in front of this grille work on the oven door. When I slid the towel over the bar I pushed the backside through and down to get the towel over the bar and somehow my pinky finger went into a slat of the grill and hit some hidden inner edge that gashed it open.
Gashed, not cut. It reminded me of that moment in Robin Hood when Alan Rickman as the Sheriff of Notthingham threatens to cut his heart out with a SPOON. Later, his cousin asks him, "Why a spoon?" and he replies, "Because it's DULL you idiot. It'll HURT MORE!"
(P.S. This clip should be available on YouTube.!)
So, he's right. The duller it is, the nastier the aftermath.
I am not sure quite what sounds I made, but something alerted Bob to get downstairs fast enough to keep me from keeling over. He did what he could to clean it, but that sucker was gushing with a big ol' flap of skin hanging open. I'm laying sprawled on the table with my hand held up like I want to answer the teacher's question, over my head, to try and stop the bleeding while Bob tries to get pressure on it and bandage it up. Meanwhile, since I'd started getting sick earlier in the day, running a low grade fever and feeling that awful sore throat thing, I'd already taken benadryl and couldn't tell if it was that, or the sight of my mangled finger, or the fever that was making feel like throwing up and passing out at the same time.
This morning we went another round, trying to get the bandage OFF, which was completely stuck and pulled the wound right back open.
So at 8:15 this morning I was in the doctor's office getting franken-fingered with three black stitches. Definitely another scar story.
Yes, I did take a picture of it pre-stitched. I will spare the public.
My doc prepared me for the needle so well that when he actually stuck me, it was nothing compared to what I was expecting. After that, I was good. I was watching him work intently when he said, "I don't think I could actually watch myself getting stitched like this." (It was pretty cool, though.)
Frankenfinger is underneath Mummy Finger for the next two days:
I knew that coffee cup would come in handy!
I guarantee you I was saying more than that last night in the moment when I thought I'd pulled off the tip of my right pinky finger.
Only Tori can find a way to gash open herself hanging up the dishtowel on the oven handle.
The handle is in front of this grille work on the oven door. When I slid the towel over the bar I pushed the backside through and down to get the towel over the bar and somehow my pinky finger went into a slat of the grill and hit some hidden inner edge that gashed it open.
Gashed, not cut. It reminded me of that moment in Robin Hood when Alan Rickman as the Sheriff of Notthingham threatens to cut his heart out with a SPOON. Later, his cousin asks him, "Why a spoon?" and he replies, "Because it's DULL you idiot. It'll HURT MORE!"
(P.S. This clip should be available on YouTube.!)
So, he's right. The duller it is, the nastier the aftermath.
I am not sure quite what sounds I made, but something alerted Bob to get downstairs fast enough to keep me from keeling over. He did what he could to clean it, but that sucker was gushing with a big ol' flap of skin hanging open. I'm laying sprawled on the table with my hand held up like I want to answer the teacher's question, over my head, to try and stop the bleeding while Bob tries to get pressure on it and bandage it up. Meanwhile, since I'd started getting sick earlier in the day, running a low grade fever and feeling that awful sore throat thing, I'd already taken benadryl and couldn't tell if it was that, or the sight of my mangled finger, or the fever that was making feel like throwing up and passing out at the same time.
This morning we went another round, trying to get the bandage OFF, which was completely stuck and pulled the wound right back open.
So at 8:15 this morning I was in the doctor's office getting franken-fingered with three black stitches. Definitely another scar story.
Yes, I did take a picture of it pre-stitched. I will spare the public.
My doc prepared me for the needle so well that when he actually stuck me, it was nothing compared to what I was expecting. After that, I was good. I was watching him work intently when he said, "I don't think I could actually watch myself getting stitched like this." (It was pretty cool, though.)
Frankenfinger is underneath Mummy Finger for the next two days:
I knew that coffee cup would come in handy!
OMG! I loved this! And before you start to think what a sick, twisted person I must be, let me explain!
ReplyDelete1) I LOVE Yosemite Sam, and I hadn't thought of his way of cussing in years!
2) I am such a clutz that I'm constantly getting bruised, bumping into things, getting fingernails caught in places (and broken off) that would be impossible for anyone else (except you I think!)
3) I love your sense of humor, too!!
I WILL say that I've never broken any bones, or needed any stitches....YET..and I certainly hope that continues!!
Oooh, you're way ahead of me Becky -- first broken bone at age 6, first stitches at 8, and plenty more where those came from!
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading! :)