My Finger Ain't The Only Thing That's Broken

I broke my finger yesterday. I’d love to pretend I was doing something noble like rescuing kittens from a burning barn or defending Steve Perry’s honor. I’ve told people I was making a one-woman sex tape and was kidnapped my lesbians. The fact that I was wrestling alligators or riding a bull may or may not be fallacy. How did I hurt my finger? One word: wolverine.

But no. Contrary to what you may have heard, I did not overuse it “getting the job done” nor was I clubbing a baby seal who fought back.

Sadly it is a simple story involving a chair and a concrete floor.

What is not simple is the long list of tasks I seem to be unable to complete.

I cannot put in my contacts or put on makeup. I cannot hook a bra. And this morning in my flow movement class (read: sensual dance) my right hand refused to be sexy like the rest of my body.

My finger is a powerfully sexy color: eggplant. Just like the new suede boots I bought myself for my birthday.  It throbs when not under the ice pack. Advil is my favorite candy du jour (since I hate painkillers and think only taking Advil might make me look like a bad ass) (D0es it make me look like a bad ass?) (Won’t someone lie to me and tell me I’m a badass?).  My finger lives in a shiny finger splint and, as a good Girl Scout, believes in the buddy system and is taped to the finger next door.

And soon it will be less swollen, less purple. Soon I will type with both hands again and not this furious hunt and peck.  But until then…

I will totally have sex with whoever will come over and wash my hair for me.

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2 Responses to “My Finger Ain't The Only Thing That's Broken”

  1. s Says:

    Ahhh….clubbing baby seals….good times.

  2. The Mama Says:

    You ARE a badass! Advil just makes you sexy and add the wine to the holy trinity and your irresistable!

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