Middle Sister and I were quite pleased with ourselves this afternoon, after clearing 9 bags of dead leaves out of the flower beds around the house. And then I went to put the rakes away. Jammed my thumb against some other implement, and managed to rip most of the top of the pad of my thumb nearly off.
We managed this gorgeous temporary bandage. And then I made the stupid mistake while taking a shower (necessary really, after working so hard on a warm, sunny afternoon) of attempting the first shave of the season while wearing this enormous piece of gauze on my thumb.
It was immediately sodden, of course. It will come as no surprise to you, dear reader, that shaving an inch-long winter growth off one’s calves (didn’t have the guts to attempt the thighs today) while clinging to a soggy hunk of bandage is a task best not attempted.
Side note: I’ve switched to a regular Band-Aid, and my space bar is now smeared with blood. Nice.
My rule is that as long as you don’t look at a disgusting injury, it doesn’t quite exist. So I managed to change bandages without even looking at my thumb at all. Quite a feat, really. Though not as amazing as the time after I’d had brain surgery, when my face was all puffed up and streaked with fascinating tints of purple and blue, and I managed to NOT look in a mirror for three full weeks. How did I know I was bruised and swollen, you might ask, if I didn’t look in the mirror? Because every dear person who came by to visit during my recovery kindly said, “Good God, what’s happened to you?” By the time I allowed myself to look, the 6″ splints were out of my nose (that is not an exaggeration) and the swelling and bruising were gone. In my mind, they’d never happened. Yeah, I’m pretty good at denial.
So, ignoring the gore on my right hand, we’re now off to do a little shopping. Will attempt to avoid leaving a trail of biohazards in the shops.