Paper Cuts

Not a lot going on. The girl downstairs is leaving for Ohio today, for Christmas, and she'll be back next Tuesday. Yeah, she's taking her puppy with her. She has an excellent speaking voice, but someone should tell her there's no need to talk so loudly into her cellular phone...technology being what it is they could put your phone's microphone n the Moon and you could speak normally and Joe Horn would be able to hear you.

I have three paper cuts going right now.

(Not on purpose)

The first is on the end of my left index finger. I got it first, and it's almost gone away. I almost didn't count it.

The second is on the outside edge of my right thumb. I got it on the edge of a manilla envelope. It sucks, and were gripping a hammer not so tantamount to my existence on this planet, I'd just lop my thumb right off. But my right hand's the one I use to smash things with.....

The third, and most irritiating, I got on a cardboard carton that holds a six-pack of cokes in place. And it's in the webbing between the index and birdie fingers on my right hand. I'm not sure how it came about that I got it...I just know I was grabbing a diet coke and things went suddenly and horribly awry.

But the worst part is this.

Last week, during one of my middle of the night galavants to the Wal*Mart, I found a big gallon-sized jar of Dill Pickles. On Special, even, for like Two Dollars and change.

They say never go to the store hungry. Well, I was hungry, and a big giant jar of pickles sounded like just the thing to hit the spot.

Now, I like dill pickles, okay? But generally just on my sammiches, or in spear form as a side....I have very little warrant in my life to go about eating huge dill cucumbers. I mean, it's an urge that hits me oncet or twicet a week, at most.

I know this because I've eaten precisely four pickles in the 10 days since I've had said big giant jar of pickles.

But anyway, just now, I decided to take advantage of said big giant jar of pickles. And I reach down into the jar. And in doing so, I almost knock the thing over. I manage to catch it before it tips and sends pickles and brine all over the kitchen, but not before my entire right hand is emerged in pickle juice.

I started talking about paper cuts. The one between the webbing of my fingers? That's fresh. Like three hours fresh.

And now it's covered in salty pickle brine.

Actually, it doesn't hurt anymore. It pretty much stopped hurting by the time I finished the first paragraph. But I'd already titled this post "Paper Cuts," so I was committed.