Bagel slicers are a top-selling kitchen contraption, which makes sense, as bagel-slicing injuries are swiftly becoming the bane of the middle class and one of the most popular reasons to visit an ER on any given weekend morning.
All of this I learned first hand (Ha! I made a pun!) on Sunday, during my ritualistic compliation of these yummy bagel sandwiches I routinely make for my boyfriend and myself, consisting of sprouts, fresh veggies, turkey bacon and cheese atop a carefully-severed and toasted bagel.
Typically, I can slice and scathe through a bagel sans incident, particularly if the bagel retains it's round and fluffy shape during baking and I keep my fingertips out of immediate danger. But the bagel that contributed to my weekend artery nicking was close to flat and oddly asymmetrical (damn Asiago cheese!), and so I laid it on the cutting board and committed the huge, ridiculously sharp bread knife to it going sideways, stabilizing it with my right hand and cutting with the left.
Like a dumbass.
With a shrieking decibel level of "OWWWWWW!" and the kitchen quickly redecorated in splatters of A Positive, I ran my middle finger under cold water, which served only to a) burn like hell and b) make the dangling flap of skin wave back and forth, as if to say, "Yoo-Hoo? Up there? Idiot!" The pressure I applied soaked through fresh layer upon fresh layer of Bounty, the Quicker Picker Upper, and refused to slow down.
Rather than spend my Memorial Day weekend waiting in an overcrowded ER, I called 3 different hospitals as I gushed to see which had the shortest wait time, barring any incoming gunshot wounds, et al, and ended up back at St. Joe's, where I was last seen with a .375 alcohol level and an admission to detox.
Chronically skeptical of doctors' competency as I am, I disagreed with the attending physician's decision not to stitch or glue my finger back together, and felt gyped that I walked out with merely a residual fever, a tetanus booster and a gauze-packed and wrapped appendage, jonesing for sutures since it's been, oh like 3 weeks since I've had any. But the caveat was that flipping people off would now be immediate and effortless.
This afternoon I get to see the plastic surgeon for whom my mom works for a wound check, hoping to gauge when the nerves might recover and I will once again have feeling in my middle finger and possibly a discernable fingerprint.
Other than the bagel incident, the long weekend was enjoyable...I drummed, finally got my Free! Panties! from Victoria's Secret, got to see a bolt of lightning strike the John Hancock building (after I got to see the first of Navy Pier's summertime weekend fireworks displays), enjoyed "Iron Man" and sleepily decided late last night to nickname my breasts "Cagney and Lacey."