Pity paws

Whenever the dogs I've had would get heartworm tests, they'd come home with a bandage wrapped around their paws. We'd always tell them they had a pity paw, because boy could they milk that bandage for all it was worth.

Lately though, it's me with pity paws. Last Monday, I sliced my index and middle fingers of my left hand during my attempts to cut through the first butternut squash my garden produced. The cut on my middle finger could have benefitted from a couple of stitches, but I was technically working and couldn't spare a trip to the urgent care center. I applied a steristrip and bandage and called it a day. Knitting all week has been tricksy.

Today...well today I pulled the beouf bourguignon from the oven to stir and add some vegetables. I replaced the foil and went to grab the pan lid, completely forgetting I had only moments before taken it out of the 325 degree oven. Of course, my fingers were slightly wet and my skin sort of sizzled on contact. I burned my right thumb, index and middle fingers.

I think I should officially change my name to Grace, or better yet, Calamity Jane. Everything I touch or do seems to be loaded with danger. I am not going to tell you how I fell off my Dansko shoe (just the left shoe) last week and nearly wrenched my shoulder while falling soundly on my ass. That would be a shameful retelling of my less than elegant comportment. With two pity paws and five injured digits, it looks like knitting will be impossible for a few days.

I may need to make an investment in industrial strength bubble wrap for a bit, or at least until the moon is aligned with Mars or some such nonsense. I hope this phase passes soon.