Yesterday, while preparing my morning bagel, I cut my finger. It wasn’t how you think.
Part of the adventure of getting older is discovering all the new ways you can hurt yourself. Something you’ve managed to do 7,541 times before without the slightest injury, or even apparent risk of injury, suddenly becomes a problem on the 7,542 attempt.
You probably assume I was careless when slicing the bagel in half. That would be an obvious, reasonable guess. And wrong. Years ago I removed that risk by purchasing a guillotine-like contraption that precludes that possibility by encasing the cutter in plastic.
Okay, you say, perhaps you used a too sharp knife to spread your butter, and accidently jabbed your other hand. That would be plausible. And also wrong. (Or if you’re Sarah Palin, wrong also.) I use a very blunt butter knife. Cutting through butter is task enough for it.
No, I actually cut my finger on the bagel.
I’m not joking. It drew blood.
I was holding the toasted bagel in my left hand while buttering it, and it rotated slightly. Somehow, a crisp edge of the bagel had enough of a point that it sliced into my unsuspecting and unprotected left middle finger. It not only bled, it hurt like the dickens for two days.
Last night I pulled a muscle in my neck while washing my hair in the shower, but that’s another story…