Ok, maybe it never really happened. I think I was just born this way.
In fact, my mom always reminds me that we used to ‘live’ in the hospital when I was younger because I got hurt so often.
But people? These past few days have been r-o-u-g-h.
It started out on Monday. I decided I was going to make some tuna salad.
So Elizabeth is all excited opening the can, la-de-la, and then SLIICEEEEE the back of my middle finger runs all along the sharp edge of the can.
Immediately my finger starts bleeding excessively.
I am screaming: “frick, frick, frick, frick, FRICK, OH FRICKER, FRICKER, frick” as I run my hand under the water.
Brandon knows I’ve hurt myself, so he comes out to see if he can help.
I am too busy saying: “Frick” to respond, so he goes and gets me a bandaid and Neosporin, since we all know that tuna in a wound? Is bound to get infected.
Great and grand, right?
Later, I am in the kitchen and cutting some vegetables. SLICE. A huge gash gets cut all across my freakin finger.
Again, more blood. Another bandaid. More ‘fricks.’
5 minutes later…
I reach for some saran wrap. SLICE. Glide my hand all along the sharp edge.
MORE BLOOD. MORE BANDAIDS. MORE ‘FRICKS.’
10 minutes later…
Walking in the kitchen and catch my pinky toe on the corner to the counter. Bend it back so far I am sure it is broken.
I hop around the kitchen like a squaking bird, while saying (you guessed it) “FRICKEEERRRRRR!!!!!”
30 minutes later…
I drop a chair on my foot and scrape it up with the metal piece on the chair. More blood. More bandaids.
This time? I cuss for real in my head (sorry, Jesus:( )
ARE YOU JOKING ME?
5 wounds in an hour.
I am all bloody and wounded and crippled now with all my pain. I can’t use my hands or my feet so I am walking around mangled and unable to perform simple tasks.
I know, you are questioning how this is possible.
Please hold your questioning.
It gets worse.
The next day comes.
I am at work.
I go outside to bring in the deliveries.
But on the way back in? I miscalculate where the box ends and my hand begins. Do you know that I freaking SLAM my finger which was sliced by the tuna can into the door?
It immediately re-opens the wound and starts gushing blood.
I am in so much pain it’s unreal.
30 minutes pass.
I am in the kitchen slicing onions on the cutting board.
The cutting board slips and WHAM. The full force of the corner of it slams into my big toe.
OH MY GOODNESS.
Tears spring immediately to my eyes.
I am in so much pain it is ridiculous.
I literally walked around the kitchen for 30 minutes crying.
When I finally had enough guts to look down at my toe, it was as I had feared: The entire thing was black and blue.
AWESOME.
So in a few weeks? I probably will be without a toenail.
It will fall off.
And my toe can look as mangled as my bitten-off nails of my mutant elf-hands.
GREAT!
I get into the car to try to drive, and guess what?
I drive a stick shift.
Can I shift? No.
Pain is shooting up my leg.
But, alas, I have to drive home.
I grit my teeth and try to breathe through the pain. Every time I shift gears? I scream “Ow!” into my car.
I pull into a parking lot and am screaming “Ow! This hurts! Oh frick! OW!!!”
If any of you have ever been walking by someone while they are in the car, you know that cars are not sound proof.
Needless to say, I frightened several passer-bys.
Currently? I am so bandaged up that my fingers and toes are non-existent: just bandages.
Oh my word.
Is anyone else this freaking clumsy????? Or am I the only one with apparently terrible gross motor skills???
