Last Friday that style element came screaming back into my consciousness when I cut my pinky, AGAIN! I was slicing a piece of bread near the butt end and was thinking about ways I could earn some extra money (A common train of thought lately and a bit ironic too considering the cost of my doctor's bills for the first cut). When I felt the knife dig into my fingernail I looked down (yes, I know, isn't that crazy that I wasn't even looking! I had to look down to see what had happened!), pinched my pinky with my other hand and thought, "This is the part that I call Stupid!"
I rinsed it off, bandaged it up very tight--so as to stop the bleeding--and finished making myself my sandwich. I didn't tell the kids or call the neighbor or anything. I even had a very hard time admitting to Dave when he got home what had happened but we were supposed to go to the beach and he had to know why I couldn't surf. I started crying a little when I told him. Though my finger hurt it was really my ego that was in pain. He thought it was hilarious and insisted on taking a picture later when we changed the bandages.