|The Barbie Band-Aid really|
does make it feel better.
I've always been pretty good with sharp objects. Most of my cuts are usually from broken glass or paper. Paper is, by far, the worst enemy of my epidermis. I've gotten some pretty nasty paper cuts. For some reason they always seem to hurt the most. Maybe it's because they're such a clean cut. Or maybe it's because I usually get them right on a knuckle where they never get a chance to really close up. All I know is that I can be bested by some thinly sliced tree pulp.
I've mentioned before that my father used to send me outside with a large knife and practice throwing it so that it would stick straight up in the grass and not land flat on its side. Yeah, it sounds weird to me now, too. But it seemed like a perfectly reasonable past time as a kid. Dad would also bring me to the Rochester Fencing Club and have me poke a knot in the knotty pine bleachers with his extra foil while he and the rest of the club members parried and thrusted. Good times.
My mother is generally discouraged from using knives. She has accidentally sliced herself open and ruined more dishcloths than I can count. We tend to take stock of the paper towels and bandages when Mom goes to slice up anything for a big family dinner. Clearly, her parents never sent her into the back yard to practice her knife throwing skills. Poor thing.
|The blood-free project!|
|Yup, I got cut right on the Middle |
phalanx of my left index finger.
I don't know about yours, but my God still does miracles. He's pretty cool like that.