There’s a band-aid on the first finger of my right hand. It’s the “opposing thumb” finger. Damn you Kiwi fruit!
I have a weakness for Kiwi. That’s why last night, long after I should have stopped eating, I grabbed one and headed to the sink. There is no Kiwi enjoyment without manual labor.
Most people who eat Kiwi cut them in half and scoop out the fruit. Not me. I peel then eat. That really wasn’t a problem when our kitchen featured some sort of amazing ceramic peeler that knew not to cut me. Alas, it broke. The new peeler is some sort of stainless steel torture instrument.
Last night I made a few swipes and then caught my finger. The skin peeled back and the blood flowed. Being a wuss this was big trouble for me! So as not to wake Helaine I wrapped some paper towel around it and waited for the bleeding to stop.
All was well until this afternoon when I went to get dressed. That thumb-forefinger combo comes into play when buttoning buttons tying a tie and attempting to use cuff links. A little pressure and the blood began to flow again.
This time no Helaine to wake up… but no band-aids I could find either. I was stuck. Paper towels and pressure held me again until I could find the band-aid I’m wearing now–at work. Meanwhile, I did some sort of finger contortion to get my shirt and suit on without lovely red splotches.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten a Kiwi related injury and yet I keep coming back. Kiwi, this is a tribute to your tangy sweetness and my inherent stupidity. I should have known something was up when you changed your name from Chinese Gooseberry!