The walking wounded

I’m typing this post with 9 fingers. Don’t worry – I didn’t lose one! But, I did manage to slice off part of the tip of my left index finger last weekend while cutting up the vegetables for beef stew. In a bit of irony, I was on the second last potato when it happened. And I was using a giant cleaver-ish knife, so looking back, I was tempting fate. I’ll spare you the pictures that I took, and since it stopped bleeding after an hour or so, I didn’t need stitches. (Although, since I cleanly sliced off the skin on the side, there was nothing to stitch.)

Now for the funny part of the story – I was using our new Cutco knives. They arrived last Thursday, so they were super-sharp when the “incident” occurred. What’s so funny about that? Around 13 years ago my mom ordered a set up Cutco knives. A few days after hers arrived, both she and my sister sliced their fingers so badly while making a fruit salad that they wound in the local E.R. together. Apparently clumsiness is indeed inherited.

And then yesterday my husband threw his back out and wound up spending two hours in the emergency room before the doctor concluded that he had just aggravated an existing injury. He’s being whiny today and asking me to fetch everything for him. This would be okay if I hadn’t thrown out my own back this afternoon while pushing the trash cans out to the curb. That’s usually his job, but since he’s hurt, I figured I’d be nice and do it for him. That worked out well, didn’t it?

I guess we’re just a bunch of clutzes over here.


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