Tom Ross: The 1st cut is the deepest
I was sliced by a bread knife worthy of King Arthur
Steamboat Springs — Within the span of 10 days, I’ve had run-ins with a giant bread knife and an exploding wine glass, both mishaps resulting in bloody wounds to the digits of my right hand.
Have you ever noticed that when you get your first cut or skinned knuckle in a long time, similar wounds are sure to follow?
I hadn’t had a reason to go the medicine cabinet for an adhesive bandage in about four months when I started getting nicked this month. And I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen the last slice in this run of bad luck.
Or maybe it isn’t luck at all. Cuts always seem to happen this way — nagging wounds come in bunches — and I don’t know why. Could this phenomenon be attributable to the weeks following a blue moon like we had on New Year’s Eve? Is it my biorhythms? Maybe it’s karma. Astrology? What’s your sign? I’m a Leo.
I blame myself for the first wound on the inside of the large knuckle on my index finger. It wasn’t the fault of my new bread knife — it was definitely operator error. But I’m also rethinking my need for a serrated knife that’s burly enough to use for firewood gathering on camping trips.
For many years, we had the same bread knife, and in December it just disappeared from the utensil drawer. Perhaps we left it at a party. I still miss its faded brown handle. We broke a lot of bread together over the years, that knife and I.
At any rate, we procrastinated for a while before acquiring a replacement bread knife.
The new blade is very capable, but the dang thing is so big it’s deserving of a name. I call it Excalibur. The good news is that I don’t have to pull it out of a stone every time I want to slice a hoagie bun. The bad news is that if I needed to, I could slay a dragon with Excalibur.
One morning, right after the new year, I was standing in the kitchen and attempting to slice a bagel while still half asleep when Excalibur cleaved my breakfast cleanly in two and bit into the hand that was holding the object of my desire.
Fortunately, I have a high threshold for pain, and my cut nearly is healed. From now on, I always will rest my bagel on a cutting board before smiting it with Excalibur.
On Tuesday morning, I was washing a wine glass that I had left on the counter overnight when it spontaneously shattered into 50 pieces. I swear to you that I was sober at 5:45 a.m.
What matters is that a little piece of glass caused a tiny cut in the tip of the pinky finger on my right hand. This would not be a big deal, but my right pinky finger is the one I use to hit one of the shift keys on my laptop keyboard.
In order to write this column, I must endure a modest amount of pain every time I type certain capital LETTERS!
I’m fortunate to work in an industry where I don’t bust my knuckles on the job. It’s not like I’m a rancher, or a plumber, a mechanic, a farrier or a carpenter.
However, journalists do endure a higher incidence of job-related paper cuts than the general population. It’s the sacrifice we make to bring the news to your personal digital assistant every morning of the year.
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