"Where is pinkie? Where is pinkie? Here I am!"

I've stalled for long enough.

Almost two weeks ago, I nearly cut off the entire tip of my left pinkie finger. Yesterday I had the stitches removed, but my finger still looks like a piece of dried-up meat. Click here to see the damage.

It was Sunday. My mother-in-law was making a cozy lunch party for some friends who were in town for a short while. Michael was freaking out because his football banquet was that evening, and he still had not completed the annual highlight film. So, the twins and I headed over to help prepare lunch, and Michael was to follow shortly thereafter.

There were many deli meats and cheeses, and bag after bag of interesting bread selections. To be helpful, I started slicing open the various rolls. Let's start with ciabatta bread. Sliced one perfectly. Next. And, yeah . . . that was it.

It happened so fast, I didn't even see it coming (and usually seconds before I do something stupid I feel like I am outside of myself watching my own stupidity). Towel. Pain. "Call Michael. Now."

When he showed up, he tried to hand me the car keys. The highlight film still wasn't done and wasn't going to be ready unless he worked non-stop on it. But no one else could drive (except my mother-in-law who was expecting company), so off we went. He dropped me off. David met me right as I was being seen (you know, after they make you pay and everything).

David is a medicinal boy scout - always prepared. Valium (when the nurse wasn't looking). Truly more damage had been done to my mental state than to my finger. Better.

It took 9 stitches to make my finger stay on. Somewhere in there my mom left work and showed up at the hospital as well. Michael called to joke around. He sort of thought I had just cut myself and they were going to give me one of those butterfly bandages or something.

People have been asking me, "Are you mad at your mother-in-law?" or "Are you even talking to Michael? Is he in the dog house?" First of all, I have no reason to be mad at my mother-in-law. I was the idiot who cut myself. Plus, I offered to help. I chose to be careless while I was cutting. She just chose to buy a thin, dense bread that is hard to cut. Not to worry - It will never be seen in our homes ever again.

And Michael . . . He was so worried about taking care of so many other people, he failed to take care of me. Not that this makes it OK, but don't we all tend to take for granted those who we love and need the most?

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And now, some accolades.

A few people said (or wrote) things to me that made me really laugh when I was recovering. You'll enjoy these:

Cary: "Now how are you supposed to order 5 beers with one hand?"

Matt: "Look at the bright side: if you get back into teaching at a later date, you are now qualified to teach woodshop."

Joshua: "What the hell is the point of Ciabatta anyway? Even when it's right it tastes stale and crunchy. Impenetrable sponge keeping me from my meat. Be gone."