For those of you who don't know, as you walk down the stairs of my house there is a ledge. For the longest time, we kept art there, namely a sign that said "way of love" with an arrow that pointed at a Picasso butt. It was hot.
Alas, there is no longer any artwork on this 4 inch ledge, but there is now a hunk of my skin. As I was walking down the stairs carrying 4 drawers off to my right side so I could actually see where I was going rather than risking falling down the stairs, I managed to BASH THE HOLY EFFING SHIT out of my pinky finger, catching it right at the knuckle between the wooden drawers and the equally wooden ledge.
It's been a long time since I've needed to put ice on something. I iced that finger and whimpered and ended up with this pathetic little excuse for a bruise that makes me tear up when I touch it. And the logical thing to say here would be.. well, then stop touching it. But if I stop touching it then it stops hurting and just feels weird instead which probably is a better scenerio but I fear I'll lose your pity if it doesn't hurt sufficiently.
Uhhh! It hurts!
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1 comment:
You poor thing. Will you ever recover???? Knowing you it is broken and you won't find out until March. Poor thing. I will pity you I promise. kiss, kiss
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