Cardboard Cut: The Reckoning

I blame Jello. Stopping by the Ultimate Stop n’ Shop for my 2-week water jug (it’s so heavy I make a separate trip), I noticed that the products of Jello are on sale. O frabjus day! O time of great joy for the world! I reach in to snag myself some Jello packs and pull it out with a MASSIVE cardboard cut on the fleshy mountain of my middle finger.

You may not know the cardboard cut, but I’m certain you’re acquainted with his insidious little cousin, the paper cut. Cardboard cut combines the decisive slicing power of his father with the unfortunate beefiness of his mother Olga (which made it hard for her to find a husband), and therefore is deeper, wider, longer.

I immediately squeeze the bottom of my finger to MAKE THE PAIN STOP and the blood spurts out of my WOUND my GUSHING WOUND. I resort to making those noises of the three stooges when one double-eyeball pokes the other while doing the mincing dance of the full-bladdered child. Who cares what the people think of me- I am DYING of PAIN and BLOOD LOSS. I look around to see if there’s an implement for cutting off my finger at the ready- a buzz saw or ginzu knife or meat axe or something. You may think I’m being drastic, but very few rational thoughts run through my head when I’m experiencing finger anguish. I attribute this to the thousands of little nerves in my fingertip, all currently screaming, "MAKE IT STOP! FOR THE LOVE OF DIGITOS THE FINGER GOD MAKE IT STOP!" The tiny voices are so distracting. If a buzz saw had been whirring away feet from me, I would have never flipped the left-handed bird again. (not that I’ve done that before, I prefer other gestures).

Now you may think I’m being wimpy about pain. But no, I know pain. I’ve broken both arms, most fingers, some toes, sprained my ankles more times than I can remember, had hideous gashes, including the glass-in-foot wound of earlier this year, and let’s not even go into the 5 and a bit years of the lancet and needle type of diabetes. Pain and I are well acquainted, and just between you and me, I think Pain really likes Cardboard Cut because he pours so much of himself into each one.

Once I got over the spurting issue and the pain lessened o-so-slightly, I ran to the bandaid aisle, squeezing gently on the sides of my finger to close the slice, my cart forgotten in the pain fog. One thought that made it through was “Oo, Curious George on sale.” I swaddled my poor finger in bandaids (a barrel of monkeys swarming on my finger) and returned gingerly to my shopping.

But herein lies the insidious nature of the wood-pulp-product cut. The sustaining of the wound is only a fraction of the pain that lies in your tiny little slit. The pain gone, you take off the bandaids, you forget about the cut, then you run your fngers through your hair and BLAMMO! the pain comes back with a vengeance. He leaps out, squealing “HAHA! I’m Back, Lady! Did you miss me? Didya didya didya?” Again, the hasty squeezing, the spurting, the bandaid applicating and the gingerly-returning to what you were doing. Repeat liberally for the next couple of hours.

Showers also presents a challenge. I chose the pretend-you-have-one-arm method tonight, which resulted in dropping my shower caddy on the bridge of my foot. All the pointy hard edges have made a distinctive bruise that looks like … a very distinctive bruise. (when I’m grouchy, I’m not creative.) Obviously the PYHOA method is a loser. Tomorrow I might try the wrap-hand-in-many-plastic-bags method, or the use-all-fingers-but-the-afflicted-one routine based on how fast the little bugger is closing up.

And until then, I’m going on Jello strike. I’m not buying any more of your too-delicious-to-be-true products until my wee little finger is back to the land of the unscathed. Jello Executives everywhere -feel my consumer rage against your sharpened edges and bloodthirsty packaging! I also bite my thumb at your mothers! (don’t worry, jello executives- I only expect this to last a halfweek or so).

Two other notes, as the world continues to spin on its axis in spite of cardboard's malicious attacks:

~I talked to a friend tonight and he commented that my blog was all the fun of talking to me with none of the pesky interaction. I can't decide if that's good or bad. I do so love to talk to you all, but I am looking forward to the day when I can retreat to my little hermit cave and do my little hermit chores like sweeping the dirt around and growing a beard. Perhaps that day is sooner, rather than later.

~Special note to a certain Californian I know: Guess who has a fall show, Tuesdays at 9 on ABC? Your one and only Donald Sutherland ;). Mmmm crusty old dude.