I hate being vulnerable!
A couple of years ago my sister, Elsa, dated a guy who worked at Union Pacific. He had a fascination with trains: he worked for a train company and in his garage kept a huge sized model train village. The train village was the sized of the garage and had mountains, lakes, and course a little town. Wanting to spend more quality time with Abel, the boyfriend, Elsa decided that she would contribute to this train obsession by building the main street area of the train village. To her credit, the buildings had great details and if you looked inside one particular apartment building you could see a little bedroom with a well-kept bed and a Beatles poster on the wall. It was charming.
However, Elsa isn't the type to sit down and fuss with minute things. She's always on the go and is always in the middle of three or four things: checking her e-mail, doing her hair, and talking on the phone. That's my sister. It is for this reason that I was doubly impressed with her new hobby and the quality of the finish product.
Later, on a day trip to Santa Barbara, I found out when and where she was making these stupid little buildings. She had her craft toolbox in the car and built them while driving shotgun. I was spellbound. My sister with a razor knife, in a moving car, in the middle of stop-and-go traffic was not good. With eyes wide open, I sat there waiting for the moment. It came. One sharp stop, up the blade went and "Ah" was all we heard. The blade went through her skin and cut the tip of her finger. Our day trip ended up with us hanging out at urgent care with my sister who had the most horrible and pitiful look on her face. She knew she had done wrong. Luckily that was the end of that hobby (and that relationship).
I mention all of this because today I, too, cut my finger...I was stupid. I was eating my no-carbs bagel, cutting tomatoes for my lunch salad, and trying to gather my stuff to jam out the door and head to work. I sliced the tomatoes while eying the bagel and then I felt it. The blade cutting my skin and felt my hand pulling away. I, too, cut the tip of my thumb and saw an impressive layer of skin with a bright red trim. My first thought, "shit, just like Elsa" and "oh god, I'm going to lose my finger." We are over-dramatic, that's for sure. But, it still hurts! The ego more than the finger.
However, Elsa isn't the type to sit down and fuss with minute things. She's always on the go and is always in the middle of three or four things: checking her e-mail, doing her hair, and talking on the phone. That's my sister. It is for this reason that I was doubly impressed with her new hobby and the quality of the finish product.
Later, on a day trip to Santa Barbara, I found out when and where she was making these stupid little buildings. She had her craft toolbox in the car and built them while driving shotgun. I was spellbound. My sister with a razor knife, in a moving car, in the middle of stop-and-go traffic was not good. With eyes wide open, I sat there waiting for the moment. It came. One sharp stop, up the blade went and "Ah" was all we heard. The blade went through her skin and cut the tip of her finger. Our day trip ended up with us hanging out at urgent care with my sister who had the most horrible and pitiful look on her face. She knew she had done wrong. Luckily that was the end of that hobby (and that relationship).
I mention all of this because today I, too, cut my finger...I was stupid. I was eating my no-carbs bagel, cutting tomatoes for my lunch salad, and trying to gather my stuff to jam out the door and head to work. I sliced the tomatoes while eying the bagel and then I felt it. The blade cutting my skin and felt my hand pulling away. I, too, cut the tip of my thumb and saw an impressive layer of skin with a bright red trim. My first thought, "shit, just like Elsa" and "oh god, I'm going to lose my finger." We are over-dramatic, that's for sure. But, it still hurts! The ego more than the finger.