The mail yesterday consisted of 4 fliers for the upcoming council elections, a bill for a thin prep test (why aren't these covered? That is the test that counts.) a magnet for a plumbing business and a menu for a Thai Takeaway restaurant.
Now I am always a fan of a Thai Takeaway menu, so I made my way back into the house studying it with extreme enthusiasm. I opened the screen door, checking out the entrees, and shut the heavy front door by the time I had reached the stir fries.
It was at this time that the synapses in my brain stopped functioning for a moment and did not tell my hand to get out of the freakin way of the huge, heavy door coming at it at 50km an hour.
Connection.
Synapses snapped back into action and quickly told my brain that something was not right in the world.
Holy Fuck! I collapsed to the floor clutching my finger, howling. I used every swear word that was ever invented and, just for good measure, I even made up a few.
The pain was getting more intense and I did the dance of the wounded housewife, which was to pace around swearing, sticking my finger under a running tap and calling Mr Woog at work. Because he is so good in a crises.....
It is not the first time I had maimed that particular digit. The year was 1996 and I was living in Norf London. I had just finished my shift at the Tufnell Park Tavern and had thrown the last drunk out. Taffy, the Welshman. Anyway, I went to lock up and slid this huge black bolt into the lock at the top of the door. The huge black bolt was not pleased, and fell hard, bouncing off the top of my finger. That little incident required immediate medical assistance.
Now, I have had my guts sliced open to retrieve stubborn babies twice, but I would put the pain of slamming your finger hard in the door in the same category of discomfort. And although I know I will survive and it is not broken, I will be losing this fingernail in a month or so.
Which is such a shame. As it is the finger that I like to use the most.
Have you ever maimed yourself real bad?
