So Friday afternoon when I was supposed to be cleaning up and getting ready for the weekend, I decided I wanted to paint my nails. The top of the bottle of the color I chose was sealed shut. Yes, there were plenty of other colors with perfectly removable tops. I love OPI and I have a ridiculous collection of nail polish. I wanted that one. I poured nail polish remover into the top and swirled it around and wiggled and twisted to no avail. As my twisting turned to absent-minded pushing, a random squirrel started to yell at Kobe, our tiny 13-year-old, blind min-pin. The bottle finally gave up the fight, while also having the last word. I snapped the cap and broke off the top part of the glass bottle. For half a moment I wondered how doable it would be to paint my nails with the shard of glass still attached to the lid. That is about the time I realized I sliced the back of my left index finger wide open and was about to bleed profusely if I didn’t hold the wound closed. I calmly put the bottle down, rinsed my hand in the sink and quickly checked the severity of the cut to make sure I wasn’t being over dramatic. This wasn’t easy being a hemophobe. It oozed with a whole lot of NOPE so I calmly and casually yelled to my husband across the house that I cut my hand open. He rushed out with all the calmness of a first time expecting father and drove me to urgent care.
While in the waiting room, I had to laugh at all of it or my brain would linger too long on the thought that I might have sliced myself down to the bone. It’s just as well, I thought at one point. Now that it’s all over my hand, I’m not so fond of the color anymore. (If you know me, you’d know I’m notorious for putting on nail polish, changing my mind, and promptly removing it.)
I ended up getting sutures to close the inch long gash on my finger and strict orders to not get it wet. Perfect Val timing because my husband had a birthday surprise for me in a few hours – a lovely evening of pottery making! Of course I had to ruin the surprise because he had to explain to the doctor what he had planned for me. I made two sad bowls, but had a wonderful time checking one more thing off my bucket list and spending time with friends all while rocking a quite fashionable surgical purple glove.
The next day, we attended a volunteer party and because I can’t keep a secret, I got us tickets for Don’t Tell Comedy for our 18 year anniversary. They don’t tell you anything until the day of, so I couldn’t have spilled the beans even if I wanted to. It turned out to be a great evening with three great comedians and one obnoxious guy. It was BYOB, so we packed dinner and a few exotic drinks we wanted to try. The hard kombucha was good, the cherry cider was down right awful, and I don’t even remember the beer as it’s only function was to get the awful taste out of my mouth and give my mouth something to do when I felt the need to heckle the chauvinistic idiot on stage.
We stopped at The Alamo after the show and finished the night with a pitcher of margaritas.
I spent my birthday tired and perhaps a bit hungover, but it was a pretty great weekend.