Goodbye, thumb modeling career

A lot of people I know are expecting me to hurt myself on a bike but I totally showed them by hurting myself on a vacuum! It all happened very quickly as I was trying to change the belt. One minute I was huffing and puffing and forcing something, as you’re supposed to do when dealing with machinery, and the next minute I was yelling “ouch!” and holding my thumb and watching the blood pool where a flap of skin used to be—skin that was scrunched up but still attached like a little skin ruffle. It was quite demure and charming.

Now I’ll never be a thumb model! (photo taken during healing)

Being a doctor’s daughter I kept my cool head and suggested  I have a seat in the waiting room where I perused Highlights magazine and some outdated issues of Outdoor Living. Then I called my name and asked myself to fill out some paperwork. “Is this really necessary?” I asked? “It’s for our files,” I said while filing my nails. “Whatever,” I mumbled and then took my seat again. Then I counted ceiling tiles. What could be taking me so long? Finally my insurance cleared and I was called in to see  myself. After answering a battery of questions which I really don’t think pertained to my thumb injury at all (When was my last menstrual cycle?  Any history of pulmonary dysfunction? What’s my favorite color?) I began to get testy. Seeing as I was getting testy, I shot myself with a tranquilizer dart and wheeled myself into the ER. “Let’s save a life” I said, staring at my thumb. Then I washed the cut with soap and water and hopped around because it was stinging and then I very carefully pushed the flap of skin back over the wound, first seasoning it with paprika and putting a pat of butter in there so it would bake to a crisp golden brown. My dad commended me on covering the cut with the skin—”that’s the perfect dressing”—he said, eating a salad. Then I covered it loosely with a bandaid because you shouldn’t cover a cut tightly with a bandaid. Then I jammed my thumb into a wall to see if it was all better. It wasn’t! My God, how long was it going to take to heal? I began to weep because modern medicine had failed me.

Oh, and then I vacuumed the hell out of the two rugs I have in here and I have to say looking around the apartment it was totally worth it.

Clean carpet.

Clean carpet.

And now that I’ve semi-cleaned my apartment I feel so much better about everything and considering how  much better I feel it’s a wonder that I ever let things get so messy in here. See, I’ve discovered two things. I feel good when my apartment is clean and I’m starving myself. I feel bad when my apartment is messy and I feel fat. So why do I eat twinkies and smear the wrappers on the walls? Gotta stop doing that.