I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned, I’m stubborn. Very stubborn. It isn’t always a bad stubborn, sometimes it’s suitable arm candy for determination. Other times well, if you wish to hear about other times, you’ll have to wait for Mister Hombre to start his own, damn blog. I’m not so stubborn, that I am incapable of admitting when I’m wrong. Don’t hold your breath, this post isn’t about that, it’s about my being proud and pragmatic.

Possibly the most constructive aspect of being obstinate lies in my DIY gene. I prefer to think of it as disease, but I suspect I’m just another helpless insect attempting to do the backstroke through the gene pool. Because I have the luxury of time, I feel compelled to research, how to. How to: replace the toilet flapper, install tile, cut and install crown molding, repair rotten window sashes, install a wireless router, reformat the hard drive, and make pesto from scratch. I am not of the opinion that everyone should share my desire to learn new things. I support your decision to pursue tasks, you are comfortable pursuing. Period.

DIY is responsible for the tradition of creating my own holiday cards. This year’s design is more complicated than the previous years’ attempts. Nonetheless, each year raises the bar, and complicates the construction process. After four prototypes and gratuitous swearing, I decided upon a design and began cutting down the paper. Six hundred cuts with an xacto knife, two hundred scores, and lots of gluing. Tedious work, but I only do this once a year.

All was going well, slowly, but according to plan, when the cutting knife slipped. Yeah. Go ahead and say the f-word. I assure you I said the f-word, several times. It wasn’t terribly gruesome. The blade followed the nail of my index finger and went an additional half inch or so. I can’t tell how deep, because I’m trying to keep the gash sealed. I’ll spare you any more details. I managed to dash to the bathroom before “dripping” on the coveted holiday paper, but my wound dressing skills leave much to be desired.

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Yup, that’s toilet paper and painter’s tape, because I felt driven to complete the task of cutting paper for the cards. (And what you can’t see in the photo is the sterile bandage next to the wound, which helped keep the gash closed, but not so much on absorbing the red stuff.) After completing the cutting duties, I evaluated my error in judgement and doused it in hydrogen peroxide, ’cause I’m pretty sure Reagan was in office the last time I had a tetanus shot. Damn thing was still bleeding….And now it’s throbbing.

The worst part about this, is Mister Hombre will roll in from work tomorrow and totally treat me like a petulant child with a milk mustache, ’cause I nicked my finger. He’s such a mother hen about my handling knives. For goodness sakes, I made over six hundred cuts today, and only one of them was bad. I’ll take those odds, and look, Ma, no stitches!

On a side note, seven years ago, I shaved off an eighth of an inch of my index finger with an xacto. It throbbed like a mother. On the same day, I also had the misfortune of suffering through a root canal. The dental work wasn’t nearly as painful as the finger decapitation. The dentist was generous and gave me a prescription for pain meds after the procedure. My tooth never bothered me, but that night when I rolled over in bed on to the wounded finger, I woke up with a throbbing pain so strong, I had to dig into the root canal pain meds. Nice!

The throbbing is impairing my typing, I hear a glass of red, and a tuxedo cat calling my name. Hopefully, I won’t toss and turn tonight.