Yup ya do. Like, for instance, at approximately 1 am Wednesday morning I learned that staples and fingers don't mix. My husband seems to think that I don't like pain. I don't know what gave him that idea, maybe it was the shriek that I let out when it happened. Or it could have been the wild dance I was doing to the rythmn of a string of hysterical profanity. Actually I think he said it was the fact that I stayed extremly pissed-off until I fell asleep. I can't figure out how you return to a good mood when it feels like everything from the wrist down is throbbing (which according to the man who injures himself regularly is typical of hitting bone-ugh) Yup, futher confirmation that I never want to break a bone.
It also made me feel really good about Rich going into the nursing program. I took one look at the piece of metal sticking out of my finger-I still can't figure out how it got there- and my mind shut off. I'd like to think that it would have turned back on in time to prevent myself from beating my hand against the counter of the Music Box in a blind panic to get it out, but I'm not so sure-whatever I did it wouldn't have been good. Luckily the master of physical misfortune was there to gently take my hand and pull the staple out. I can't believe that I was sane enough to register that he did an excellent job pulling it out without yanking at an angle, and that it could have hurt a whole lot more. He'll be great at giving shots whith minimum pain.
Just for review: Finger + Staple = Pain. Got that?
MDragon
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