I cut my finger this morning while making a lunch for HCFG. I’m ok, (it stopped bleeding after 5 minutes,) but it sure is a bear to type with only one hand.
Do you know how much mileage I can get out of this one??? Hot damn!
My finger hurts – Wahhhhhhh!
Did HCFG kiss your boo-boo? That makes ouchies all better.
Milk it, girl!!
As I was shaving this morning, Lisa runs into the bathroom, nearly hip-checks me into the bathtub in her haste to move me aside, then runs the water. I see a trace of crimson. My Lisa is hurt! Momentary panic until I ascertain that she doesn’t need stitches. It’s one of those little cuts that sting and bleed madly, but it’s not life threatening.
Once the medical stuff is out of the way, I offer to kiss her boo-boo and make it all better. She graciously accepts, and I go the whole distance with all the baby-talk noises that you use on little kids. As she dabbed on the Neosporin, I got the Band-Aid ready and wrapped it ever-so-neatly around the wounded digit.
Lisa’s indignant, accusing me of being snarky and sarcastic in her moment of dire peril. Naturally, I am almost always guilty of this sort of behavior. The pouting starts. The chin quivering. The “you don’t care if I live or die!” stuff. The “I’m bleeding to death because you wanted me to cut up the camembert cheese in your lunch into just the right size pieces” guilt.
Through all of this, I’m beginning to get the idea that Lisa’s mom deserves some sort of award. At least a medal. Sainthood is not out of the question. I can imagine just how much of a production the Band-Aid application ritual must have been whenever seven-year-old Lisa scraped her knee.
So as the guilt generators flared into full power and their beams were trained on me, I knew that my day was going to be a long one.
So far today at work, I’ve gotten regular updates. First, she’s feeling faint from loss of blood. I reassure her that you have to lose at least a liter of blood before they transfuse you, and the 0.1cc that went down the drain is well shy of that amount, so she won’t have to worry about the lines in the emergency room. Then she’s starting to worry about infections. I told her that the one application of Neosporin is enough and she doesn’t need to soak her finger in it. Then she starts to really worry. This time, it’s gangrene. I told her that it typically requires at least a week before it starts its slow, agonizing inexorable march up her finger then her hand and then takes over her whole arm.
I’m definitely having a ton of fun getting melodramatic reports of the suffering and anguish on Lisa’s part and in coming up with ever more callous and uncaring replies. This is just one of the fun things about being with somebody whose sense of humor complements your own so well…
–HCFG
Vince, I was a star pupil in “Mom’s Medical School” of boo-boo kissing. Silly and romantic or a valid therapeutic intervention? Both, actually. Clinical Studies going back to the 1930s (and possibly before) have identified positive clotting action triggered by saliva. So kissing a boo-boo really does make it better.
@ Vince: Yes indeed!
@ Nat: I will!!! LOL.
@ HCFG: Excuse me, YOU are the one writing all the melodrama i.e. this quote:
“I am in awe of your bravery, selflessly risking further damage to your already tragically wounded digit to type up this e-mail message and send me this link. I hope that you don’t have too much blood dripping into your keyboard that it might gum up the works in your computer.”
In the meantime I am typing in pain and misery – Harumph!
Oh and be sure and enjoy your lunch…
Nuff said
Hey, guys! Drop those troop deployment reports! We got a citizen with a cut finger over here! Who is going to be Secretary of Health and Human Services? Daschle? Get him on the phone! STAT!!
I don’t care if he’s on the golf course! I want Daschle on the horn NOW!
It’s morning in America–and we can’t have any citizens struggling with a cut finger!
We promised to enter in to a new administration with accountability and transparency. I want the best medical care possible for this lady!! Fly her down to the Mayo Clinic if you have to!!!
I will not rest until every single American has health care, do you hear me???!!!
^ (Okay that was really me but I couldn’t resist…)
@ Rahm and Zen: Well done! LMAO, actually
Hang on, lady!
I am sending a helicopter right now.
Could you just make a tourniquet and bite on a stick or something?
Just HANG ON, D@MMIT!
We need you to help rebuild America!!!
I need help here because I’m a bit slow. This Kizmeet thing you’ve got going on – why are you posting half your entries here and then full entries over there? Are you getting paid by them to post over there? If so, well, then God bless you for making money blogging. If not, in the words of Tom Hanks in the movie Big, “I don’t get it!” But I want to get it, so explain, please!
Get a Dora bandaid for it.
I’m back and you’re injured. Looks like everything snarky that could be said has been said. But when I cut MY finger, it’s serious shit. So I do sympathize. But I’m impressed with the amount of fun you both get from this.
I would sue someone, Lisa. It’s the American way.
I’d go with Marty’s suggestion. Let’s see: You were cutting up cheese. What KIND of cheese? Was it a slippery cheese? If so, sue that cheese maker for processing such a slippery chunk o’ churn. Cheese ain’t supposed to be slippery!
How ’bout the knife? Was it a fairly new yet dull knife? Knives aren’t supposed to be dull! They gotta be sharp and the blade’s gotta be precisely honed to cut through most anything– even slippery cheese! Go after that knife maker hon, if they ain’t already outta business!
Or next time let HCFG cut the cheese. Men are so much better at doing that than us gals are anyway.
HCFG: We sing …
Lisa B: We sing …
HCFG: So rare …
Lisa B: So rare …
HCFG and Lisa B: Like old Camembert ….
What a swell party this is.
I like how you’ve been generating melodramatic updates on your injury, Lisa. It’s a tribute to our heritage. In the book Such a Life, Edith Lazebnik recounts a letter she received from her mother, still in the old country at that time, which explained how Edith’s little sister “cut her finger, she was bleeding to death.”
@ Tom Daschle/Zen Wizard: I like the way you think, thanks!
@ TF: I respectfully choose not to answer. But I will say you have come up with some interesting conclusions on your own!
@ D-Man: Got a loaner?
@ Bud: I bet with you being a musician it is a very big deal! As for snark, there is never enough lol. And HCFG and I do have a lot of fun!
@ Marty: Great idea!!!
@ Carolyn: You are creatively diabolical – me likey!!!
@ Golfwidow: I like your song! Welcome to our party!
Me a drama queen???
I have it easy: I just walk into things. I have one bruise, but I’d never trade it for a cut. Ouch!!!!
MILK it baby, for all it’s worth!!!
Since you are not married you might can milk it for quite a while. After marraige you will probably be told to put on your big girl panties and get over it. That’s the answer that I get after an injury anyway.
[...] you may have seen the other day that I was wounded while being a doting girlfriend. Needless to say I milked it for all it’s worth, (hey no one ever called me stupid! At least [...]