I never realized how much I used my pinkie since "the accident".
After consuming a full pot of coffee last Saturday morning, in my caffeinated stupor (or rather, rampage), I decided to do the four dishes sitting on my counter. One of which, the stolen wine glass from the "Suite Hotel" in Bloomington, Illinois from college as a memento of some anniversary with some boyfriend I don't even remember. My hand went in, sponge in tow and the glass shattered - my pinkie slipping quickly down the side into the jagged edge of the cheaply made* chardonnay glass.
Blood everywhere. Flowing down the sink, across the kitchen floor as I made my way to the bathroom and the wreckage flowed down the basin and anything I touched. The C-shaped cut slit a nice flap across my pinkie knuckle creating the image of a less than appetizing advent calender. Pinkie bend was a definite no-go. Luckily, within the past two days I had seen the movies "No Country for Old Men" and "Shooter" both of which have very graphic scenes involving self medication and surgery. Inspired, my new splint was two post-it notes folded longways covered in scotch tape, held on by three band-aids. Later, this was to be replaced tonight in a stroke of genius by a nail file broken in half and three band-aids as before.
Did you ever realize how much you bend your little finger? Try it. Try to do anything and not let it do that little half-bend it so dearly wants to do whenever those other four want to take action. Better yet, try to do the dishes, wash your hair or write a letter while your pinkie finger is immobilized. It's the most annoying thing in the entire world, but I refuse to mobilize until lack of scarring is a definite possibility. Although, adding to the other three hand scars may make me seem kind of badass. Yeah, maybe not - but still.
*you can always tell by the rim.
After consuming a full pot of coffee last Saturday morning, in my caffeinated stupor (or rather, rampage), I decided to do the four dishes sitting on my counter. One of which, the stolen wine glass from the "Suite Hotel" in Bloomington, Illinois from college as a memento of some anniversary with some boyfriend I don't even remember. My hand went in, sponge in tow and the glass shattered - my pinkie slipping quickly down the side into the jagged edge of the cheaply made* chardonnay glass.
Blood everywhere. Flowing down the sink, across the kitchen floor as I made my way to the bathroom and the wreckage flowed down the basin and anything I touched. The C-shaped cut slit a nice flap across my pinkie knuckle creating the image of a less than appetizing advent calender. Pinkie bend was a definite no-go. Luckily, within the past two days I had seen the movies "No Country for Old Men" and "Shooter" both of which have very graphic scenes involving self medication and surgery. Inspired, my new splint was two post-it notes folded longways covered in scotch tape, held on by three band-aids. Later, this was to be replaced tonight in a stroke of genius by a nail file broken in half and three band-aids as before.
Did you ever realize how much you bend your little finger? Try it. Try to do anything and not let it do that little half-bend it so dearly wants to do whenever those other four want to take action. Better yet, try to do the dishes, wash your hair or write a letter while your pinkie finger is immobilized. It's the most annoying thing in the entire world, but I refuse to mobilize until lack of scarring is a definite possibility. Although, adding to the other three hand scars may make me seem kind of badass. Yeah, maybe not - but still.
*you can always tell by the rim.
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