Saturday, August 26, 2017

No, That's NOT A Big Bear Paw

It's been quite a while since I shared one of my debilitating injuries with you! So you're in for a treat today. Not quite as good a treat as cake and ice cream, or the pulled pork leftovers Farmer H brought home yesterday, or even as good as the dry cat kibble that the dogs get when I return from town. But still, a TREAT! It's not every day you get to read about what a klutz Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is when left to her own devices.

This time, my device was an ink pen. Yep. Not even one of those deadly quill pens, made from a hollow turkey feather. Or its second cousin, the ink pen with a metal nib. Nope. We're talkin' about a common ballpoint. Not even one in a fancy wooden case, as may be given to a teaching wife at Christmas time, with the suggestion, "You can take it to school, and set it on your desk." Yeah, right! If I want it STOLEN withing the first three class periods.

No, none of those implements of writing. We're talkin' about a blue-ink brown-colored ballpoint pen, stolen unthinkingly picked up from the cup on the counter outside the glass window of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's credit union.

I carry that pen in the side pocket of my 20 30-year-old purse, to pop in my shirt pocket during sorties to The Devil's Playground. To cross off items from my list, making sure to purchase them all, so that when I get home, Farmer H can tell me something that he really wanted. That wasn't on my list.

Anyhoo...on Wednesday, I was out and about, buying assorted last-minute items that may have been foodstuffs, drinkstuffs, or scratcherstuffs. The days all run together for me now. Anyhoo...I was sitting in T-Hoe's driver's seat, and reached over to my purse on the shotgun seat to to pull something out of that side pocket. It may have been a shopping list, or a list of previous ticket winners, both of which are on index cards stuffed in the side of my purse. Or it could have been a dollar bill for my 44 oz Diet Coke. In any case, the pen wasn't wedged upright as I normally keep it. That pen flipped out. Having lightning-quick reflexes (I'm a ninja!), I juggled that pen before it could fall down in the cracks of the seats, or tumble into the second row. As I closed my hand around it, the top end of the pen, which was on the bottom at the time, jammed into T-Hoe's console, and the bottom end of the pen, which was on the top at the time, jammed into the fleshy part of the heel of my hand.

It hurt like a sonofagun! Reminded me of the time I was in junior high, rounding a corner, my books tucked into my elbow, pencil grasped in my hand, and a young hooligan rounded that same corner from the other direction, hitting my books and forearm, jamming that recently-sharpened pencil into my belly. A niftier puncture could not have been made by a healthcare professional giving me the first of a series of rabies shots. I may still carry the gray mark of the graphite to this day.

Anyhoo...my hand had that indentation that looked like blood might start spurting. But it didn't. I think the force of the impact made the blood vessels seal themselves off. There WAS a blue dot there, though. I meant to get a picture for you that night, but you might have cried shenanigans and accused me of merely drawing on my own hand with a blue ink pen. So I took the picture a day later.


Yes, I'm already on the mend. And if you plan to read my lifeline...I may not want to hear the conclusion.

6 comments:

Sioux Roslawski said...

HM--Oh, your lifeline is long. Very long. So long, you might want to shorten it soon... because in just a few days, your life will be forever changed.

Ha

Ha

Ha

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
WAIT! That ink pen didn't pierce my life line, did it? Because I need to be around to keep Farmer H in check for a good long time. Which will seem not-so-good, and longer.

Anonymous said...

On R (retirement) Day, it will feel like you landed on the beach at Normandy!!

Hillbilly Mom said...

fishducky,
Well, after all the planning I've done throughout my life, trying to meet up with my mom on assorted parking lots, to trade leftovers and gently-read tabloids and sometimes children...it's about time I am allowed the full experience of the landing, courtesy of Farmer H.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Ouch! I have done similar things to my own hands. Aches in the night.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
And you're not above ENHANCING your wounds for the sympathy (or guilt) factor!