No Regrets

More lip curling for The Smiling Infidel.

Three years ago, my husband had surgery to fix a blocked tear duct. The procedure involved breaking a hole in the bone near his eye and, essentially, creating a new duct. As part of the process, the doc inserted a tiny tube into the new tear duct to hold it open while it healed. The tube went up through Phil's nose, out one duct and into the other, and then back down into his nose, creating a loop. It was quite irritating and really gross to look at. Of course the grossness factor inspired Phil to have me take this picture of the atrocity. If you look closely, you can see the tube in the corner of his eye going into the tear ducts of each eye lid. It still creeps me out to look at.

Phil's favorite part of the operation was finding out that the dressing they used to pack his nose after surgery was loaded with cocaine. (Awwww, my little druggie gets his first--and only--fix!)

Strange Regrets

I've been thinking about Dalene's blog from the other day. It brought to mind my own gross wound story from last summer and the ensuing regret.

Here's how it all happened: I was doing some mending on my ancient sewing machine. I needed to rethread the bobbin (or the Golden Snitch, as my second son once called it). Meanwhile, son number three, who was almost 2 at the time, was pitching a screaming fit about something. Unfortunately for me, the two activities combined in a most painful manner. I was reaching for the thread as it came up from the bottom at the same moment that my son stomped his little foot forcefully on the foot pedal. Needle met index finger and created a stitch in time--right through my fingernail and out the bottom of my finger.

I yelled and pulled my finger away from the machine, only to be shocked to see the thread pulling away as well. T-- had literally sewn a stitch in my finger. I cut the thread and walked outside to find my husband. His main concern was whether or not I was going to pass out. My main concern was getting that thread out of my finger and making sure the needle hadn't broken off inside. We debated for a while whether or not I should head out to the InstaCare.

In the end, we came inside, soaked my finger (and the thread) in rubbing alcohol, and got out the pliers. Phil pulled that alcohol-soaked thread through my finger and I tried really hard not to cry from the pain. Eventually, it healed just fine. I had to take out some parts of my nail to pull out more thread there about a week after it happened, but after that was out it only took another week to heal.

My only regret?

Not taking a picture of my finger with thread coming out both the top and bottom.

Happy Anniversary, baby. Got you on my mind...

Yes, just a short 14 years ago today, I married the man of my dreams. He even knew how to do that sea food joke. Only in this case, it was "See? Cake!"




As a side note, I didn't start swearing until after I got married. And kudos to those who know which song I'm referring to in my title.

Snort

I don't know if this is a legitimate story, but I really don't care. It's too funny not to post, especially after our "self-smarted" friend's diatribe.

When Nathan Radlich's house was burgled, thieves left his TV, his VCR, and even left his watch. What they did take was "small, generic, white, cardboard box filled with greyish-white powder." (That at least is the way the police described it.) A spokesman for the Fort Lauderdale police said, "that it looked similar to cocaine and they'd probably thought they'd hit the big time."

Then Nathan stood in front of the TV cameras and pleaded with the burglars: "Please return the cremated remains of my sister, Gertrude. She died three years ago."

Well, the next morning, the bullet-riddled corpse of a drug dealer known as Hoochie Pevens was found on Nathan's doorstep. The cardboard box was there too; about half of Gertrude's ashes remained. And there was this note. It said: "Hoochie sold us the bogus blow, so we wasted Hoochie. Sorry we snorted your sister. No hard feelings. Have a nice day."

Sure, buddy . . . no hard feelings.

Woo-HOOOOOOOOO!!!!

My BUDget is DOne! My BUDget is DOne! (can you picture me singing?)

Yes, I've finally caught up. I know, I know...I'm confirming your suspicions that I'm not completely normal--anal retentive, even. But I can't help but celebrate. I've had that budget hanging over my head like Pooh's black cloud since February, and I got everything done through June. Yippeeee! Now I can blog without guilt!






Until July 31, that is.