I work for this one family who has the sliding door to their backyard that is pretty darn heavy and last time I was there I went to shut it as we came in from outside and ended up slamming the heavy door right on my knuckle below my pinky finger. It hurt. And I was confused on how my hand got in the door, you know, since the concept of
watch your fingers
is well established in your childhood and not something that needs to be retaught in your twenties. Well, apparently folks, I need a run down in common sense and childhood safety precautions because I am at the same exact house and I slammed my knuckle in the door AGAIN! This time it’s all swollen and bruised. A punishment for not being careful and learning from the first time it happened. It got all swollen and blue and hurt, and hurt even more when the little boy went to grab me by my hand and pulled on the exact finger and knuckle I just slammed in the door. I’m kind of afraid of waking up tomorrow morning because what if it has swelled up to the size of Jupiter? Would it be safe to say, then, that it is broken? Maybe.
It’s not broken, I don’t think. Not that I really know what broken bones feel like since I’ve never broken anything in my life, but I would imagine the pain would be quite intense. Like the pain Wile E. Coyote must feel when his attacks on the roadrunner backfire and he is flattened by his own anvil. And hey, he’s still alive after all of that, so I’ll probably survive the night.