Dang it!

My middle finger is THROBBING! Maybe because I jammed the fingernail against the door frame of the van when I was lifting Willie's car seat into the base on the way to grocery shop. Maybe because once we arrived at the store, some broad in the parking lot started yelling at me. And she was very broad! So there!

Here's the scenario: I chose a parking spot and started easing slowly into the space. I stopped well short enough to see the wheels on the two shopping carts this gal was unloading at the point where they touched the pavement. There was a toddler in one of the carts and an older lady holding the cart handle, so of course I stopped well short and made sure no danger came to the child or the older lady.

As I get out of the van I hear her saying something about "How dare she park that close with my kid in the cart" in a pissy voice, to her mother, still standing at the cart with the child in it, having not moved an inch. So, me being me, I took my throbbing, bloody, Kleenex-now-stuck-to-it finger, to the front of my van to better assess the situation. I knew if I had that much visual space from inside the van, there had to be at least six feet between the van and her child. And this is when she decided to yell directly at me. So I said rather calmly, "I came no where near you, your carts, or your baby." She continued to rant while I went back to the van and got the baby out and The Girlie went to find a cart and The Pod Pie stood there looking like he had front row seats to the WWF. Having to use my left hand to lift the seat really hurt! And this gal is still ranting at me. So, I walked back to the front of the van with Jack's seat in tow, where she's yelling now about the safety of her baby, and gesturing to Jack I said once again very calmly while Jack gurgled happily, "Tell me how concerned I am about infant safety." And she continued to rant. Loudly.

So, me being me, I'm starting to get pissy and I just can't let it go. I set Jack into our cart and stood with my arms stretched out between my van and her cart, reaching neither. I should have just walked away. Instead I said, "Oh shut up now! I can lay down in the space I left between us! You're being stupid!" And she continued to rant. So I said, "I took forever to pull into this space slowly. If you were so worried why didn't you grab your kid and run? He's mobile! He's in a cart. She? I can't tell. At any rate, you just continued loading your car. If you were so alarmed, why didn't you or your mother move the cart? Hmmm?" More nonsensical ranting. So I gathered my kids and said, "C'mon you guys, I'm done talking to this ass!" So...another tirade was launched about teaching my kids to cuss. "On the contrary. An ass is an animal with long skinny ears! Look it up. If you know how to read! They do sell dictionaries here!" And we went into the store with my throbbing bloody finger while she continued to shout after us. Eeeesh.

So it could have been my injury that made it throb, or it could have been that I was just itchin' to put it to use!

Having borne the throbbing in my bloody finger tip all through the grocery trip for the holiday meal, loading and unloading the van, and lifting The Duck's seat at least two more times, I knew eventually I was going to run out of things to put away and I'd have to deal with this finger. When the time came I was counting on that cushioning pad of dried blood under my nail to ease the sting of the acetone. It didn't work. The acetone dissolved the blood much faster than the 52 layers of nail polish I keep on them to maintain this length. And boy did it sting! Lots of muttered cussing and three bloody nail polish soaked cotton pads later, I examined the damage. There's no way I'm cutting that thing down as far as the break. And there's no way I was going to jam a cotton pad beneath the nail to get the last traces of blood either! This called for some crafty thinking. Gluing it held it in place but very wobbly and unstable. One good bump and I would likely lose tissue from the nail bed. Some thin plastic sheeting and some crazy glue, along with lots of buffing, and my fingernail is once again stable for use! Oh happy day. That was sarcasm. But I am glad I saved my nail, and therefore, my manicure. It's all I've got. I'm heavier than I want to be, I don't shop for myself until stuff wears out, my haircuts usually take place in my bathroom with whatever scissors I can find, and I don't even want to discuss my last attempt at hair color! Thank goodness it's the wash out temporary kind! Anyway, my manicure is all I've got right now. Well, that and my sarcasm!