Booboo

Yes, in case you haven't catched on yet, this is my pointing finger. Actually, it isn't as painful as it looks... after the first couple of hours. Oh by the way, this was about... three days, I think, after the incident? For my entertainment and the disgust of my readers, I shall narrate the story of how my wee little fingy was victimized by fate.Just before sunset on the fateful day of October 29th of the Year of the Brown Earth Rat ( thanks to Chinese Astrology Online), I was diligently and expertly carving boards of illustration in the confides of my humble home with a brand new blade. I was quite in a hurry for later that night, we were due at the Funeraria Paz to attend the wake of my late grandfather, Robert Tan. Boasting or spouting air is not my intention when I declare that my blade skills have become very efficient ever since I, together with my companions, took on the challenge of assisting in making props for our organization at the academe. Actually, some of my very good acquiantances were engaging in such work in my abode just a day before the tragic happening. Anywho, back to my narration, I was just up with the last piece of the structure when disaster struck!

For a second which seemed like a moment, time froze as I gazed upon a big chunk of my own flesh laying flat on the floor. The cutter which I held had apparently sliced a piece of my meat cleanly off my appendage of pointing--no immediate pain, thank God. Reluctantly, I shifted my view to my fingy then a fountain of blood oozed out. "Oh shit..." was my first thought and "Putangina!" was my second.

I rushed to a nearby sick to clean my wound as puddles of blood flowed out of my fingy. I shouted to the house help for disinfectants and cotton but to my dismay, she came running empty handed. I was pleading her to look for some but she kept on saying, "Wala! WALA! WALA! AHHHH!!!" She was just hysterical! I mean, I was the one cut here! I'm the victim (as well as the culprit! hehe) and she was the one panicking... my God, my finger's done for. But thankfully, she once again returned with a bottle of betadine and cotton helping me cover up my booboo and stop the bleeding. All's well that ends well, as they say.

Later that day, we passed by a coffee shop and I had no guilt whatsoever as to ordering an expensive cup of mocha frost. After all, what better day to indulge yourself than a time when you cut a piece of your own meat from yourself?

Anyway, the moral of the story is, if you wanna be guilt free, slice, slice slice! hohoho!