and the brain, brain, brain, brain...

In which I refer to my body parts the third person:

A couple of months ago I slammed my pinkie in car door. There was some blood, some flapping skin, some pain. There was also some fainting and a little ice.

After the trauma subsided, Pinkie seemed to be doing alright. He had a bit of an ugly black spot at the bottom of the nail but the skin reattached itself and the nail seemed firmly in place. For this I was grateful.

The black spot started growing out and when it reached the top, I was horrified to find that Pinkie's nail was not as firmly attached as previously believed. Since the damage seemed only to be on one side of the nail, I thought I could stick it out and wait for the healthy nail to grow-up. That is until I was knee-deep in laundry and snaggy fabric yesterday.

The hanging nail got caught-up in some netting and practically ripped right off poor Pinkie. I had to do some impromptu surgery involving nail clippers and tiny, tiny scissors. The end result is a snarly, grotesque looking finger. I told Pinkie that it was badass and that he should be proud of his war scars but I think he's feeling a bit exposed.

Now with Pictures!