Skin Deep

Of all the injuries that could happen, you would have thought that a small cut would be one of the least inconvenient. Being beheaded, now that would be a major inconvenience. But somehow, a small cut, on the tip of a finger, could be the most ridiculous injury possible. Let me explain…

Yesterday it was training day for my brother’s football team. My dad is now the manager of the team, and so I like to go along every week to give him a hand. It can get a bit out of hand if only one person is there, particularly as the team now has several players who have ADHD.

For training and matches we like to take a load of water bottles for the kids to drink for obvious reasons. They normally get used very well, so it’s become a custom for them to be there. So, in my nice helping way that I have, I got all the water bottles out of the shed yesterday to fill them up.

I got to the sink and noticed that most of the bottles were a little dirty. So I would wash them.

But the sink was full of soapy bubbles and crusts of bread. This was a most unusual discovery. I’ve never seen bread in the sink before. We had just had sandwiches for lunch, and I guessed that one of my siblings, or my nephew, had chucked their crusts in the sink. Why, I don’t know. Probably laziness. They normally leave their plates on the side with all the crusts on. But today, they put them in the sink.

So I had to fish them out. I stuck my hand in and whirled it around, grabbing the crusts – for there were lots of them – squeezing them and putting them in the bin. Once I’d got most of them I stuck my fingers near the plug hole to push the rest of the debris down it.

Mistake. Slash. Ow. I pulled my finger out to a surprising amount of blood. The tip of my middle finger was cut, and because the rest of my hand was wet it looked terrible as the blood had all ran down it. I stuck my other hand in delicately to find the culprit, and it was a small piece of glass in the plughole, the remnants from a broken wine glass the day before.

So my nice intentions to do the water bottles for my dad were ruined by a piece of glass. A piece of glass that I wouldn’t have had to touch if there weren’t crusts in the sink, as there never has been on a previous occasion. Now with a cut finger, bleeding everywhere, there was no way I could carry on with my job.

But this is no ordinary cut. It is on the worst part of the finger possible as no plaster will sit on it properly. It is truly awkward. Sideways, lengthways, diagonally… nope. Just wrong every time.

And it wouldn’t stop bleeding. It still hasn’t properly stopped this morning. I can’t type with it as I leave a trail of blood across the keys I used if I do. I can’t write because it is sore and in exactly the place where I hold a pen. So now I’m walking around with my right hand in an odd shape to avoid touching things with it. Plus, a plaster would be difficult anyway because it would get wet every time I washed my hands.

A minor cut causing ludicrous amounts of hassle. And all stemming from good intentions that went bad because of my lazy siblings, none of whom would admit to the crust-sink incident. And a wine glass that my mum broke while cleaning it, and claimed to have fished all the pieces out yesterday.

The worst of it all? Only one of the kids yesterday actually bothered to have a drink. Normally almost all of them do, and you can bet your bottom dollar that had we not brought water, like we forgot to do two weeks ago, there would have been plenty of moans about being thirsty and needing a drink.

The thing that amazes me about life is how lots of little co-incidences can accumulate to produce a much larger outcome, way beyond the significance it deserves…

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