Thanksgiving is time of refetion. A whole 24 hours given to the contemplation of blessings, comforts of life, and overstuffed bellies. I never would have guessed however, that on this particular thanksgiving of 2007 I would be rejoicing over my freshly greenwrapped middle finger, currently located on my left hand. Eventually in place of the obnoxius but festive green wrapping over my finger, there will be a scar probably in the shape of a lighting bolt, to ever remind me how my finger was miraculously salvaged and saved.
Although I accidentally brutally cut my finger yesterday, the fate of my fair middle friend, began weeks ago when a strapping young man (who will stay anonymous) came to our house selling 100$ knives that supposedly cut through everything. (Apparently he was an honest salesman) My Mom and Dad got their knives and put them to use right away. They sliced magnificently through bananas, cheese, and even rare pieces of meat. My parents were satisfied with their hundred dollar purchase....the knives however were not. The sweetness of fruit or the bite of crisp cheese could not appease these Cutco knives.
I walked into the kitchen yesterday ready to assist my Dad in making pulled pork sandwhiches for my Grandma. I grabbed some bread out of the freezer and tried to pull it apart. Eventually I gave up and resulted to the microwave defroster to make the bread softer to peel. After the bread had been defrosting for a few minutes I grabbed the loaf and began to attempt seperating the bread once again. However, the bread would not budge. So, I decided to take measures into my own hands. I looked around for a knife and a few inches away from my plate of unbudging bread was the beloved 100$ dollar cut co knife. I grabbed the knife and began to reslice the bread myself. In matter of seconds, I felt something sharp and aggresive snag into my fingernail. I looked down noticed the cutco knife had founs its way into my finger. I pulled the knife out with an exclamated "OW!" My dad quickly went into calm action; He rinsed my finger and stuck a paper towel around the wound and walked back and forth in the kitchen muttering and pulling his thoughts together before we drove to the emergency room. As I was patiently, yet very anxiously, waiting for my dad in the door way, my Grandma who saw the whole thing happen stared at me, then calmly stated "Next time use a butter knife." I nodded my head in polite agreement then strolled out the door with my father finally ready to take me to the er.
Whether it was the efficency of the cutco kinfe and the cleannes of the cut, my Grandma's sound advice, or even the oriental woman in the er, (that's another story) I am grateful this thanksgiving for an intact finger and a plethera of wisdom newly flourished.
Happy Thanksgiving!