War Wounds

Or, as Chadwick calls them, Christmas Wounds.

Last night we were deciding if my dodgy knee would hold up to partaking in Chadwicks long overdue birthday drinks when the choice was taken from us. You see the other half fancies herself as a jack of all trades and with good reason - she is. Where I can't hammer a nail into a block of wood without crushing thumbs (sometimes my own!) she can build a dining setting, complete with chairs and mini-bar, and all of which would put the average store to shame. Certainly the stuff she can make is far better than the crap you find in the so called professional stores if only because she uses real wood and not painted chipboard. I've said it before, she can write, paint, draw, take award winning photos, build anything she wants, but she just can't be bothered. Once she masters an art she then moves on to the next project. But I digress somewhat. So last night I'm sitting, resting my knee and hoping it'd come good.

I have one of those knees that you see old farts sitting about in rocking chairs with. However I actually do know when the weather is going to violently change because my knee will give way completely. If I keep it in the one position it's fine. I can walk on it. However if it moves ever so slightly then it'll buckle and before I know it I'm on the floor, unable to get up. That was me for the bulk of yesterday. In these cases I usually just sit down, grab a book and just read the day away because there's not much else I can do.

To set the scene, I'm sitting there, just finishing a book when I noticed the other half asking for my multi-purpose tool. Now I've warned her more than once that I keep my knives sharp for my own reasons. I've now decided that warnings to her are either water off a ducks back or a challenge. Either way she started hacking at the heels on her shoes in an attempt to become a cobbler. Good on her too, cobbling is a lost art really. I just sat there, generally ignored all the grunting and curse words until suddenly she yelped and jumped up and ran out of the room. It seems that she, as usual, ignored my warnings about sharp knives and not doing anything foolish and proceeded to slit her finger open, nearly to the bone. Lot of crying and water running later I managed to get her over to the local quack who then inserted five stitches into her hand with the advice that perhaps she might find a professional shoe repairer. As always she'll listen to the doctor, but not to me.

So now the end result is that she has to have the stitches in for a week, can't take the bandage off until about 8pm New Years Eve and is in some pain, and, naturally, the source of quite a few mono jokes. She has to wrap the hand in a surgical glove, have it taped up and then placed into a plastic bag just so she can wash herself. I hate to sound sexist, but typical for a female, one of her main concerns is how she's going to manage to get her slap on - that ain't something I can help with, not unless she wants to look like Hugo Weaving gone wrong.

Ahhhh the things that make us chuckle, and as my dear ole ma says, if you can't laugh at these things then you really need to get off the bus.

This one's for you Chad!


Anonymous said…
All I can say is "Ouch!!"

Seriously though, she should have known that your knives are sharp, especially considering your background.

At least she didnt' require a transfusion, or a re-attachment of a finger. That would really have spoiled things ...

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