03.09.01

Yesterday, in the midst of using the straightening iron I recently aqcuired to purge a strange wave in my hair from the the back of my head, I inadvertently 'straightened' my finger. Now, as all of you are probably not familiar with the mechanics of a straightening iron, I will explain this process in layman's terms.

Imagine the fires of Hell harnessed into a 2.25 inch wide by 3.5 inch long pair of flat metal plates set into an attractive and ergonomic casing that clamps the plates together like pliers, used for the express purpose of cooking the curl out of people's hair.

Imagine, if you will, sandwiching your finger between the plates and clamping down on said finger.

Now, imagine the fires of Hell scorching and searing a 3.5 inch long sections of flesh along the back of your finger*.

Try not to scream as you leave the skin attached to the iron, and win extra bonus points for not hurling the expensive and useful tool across the room while cursing like a salty sea dog.

Welcome to my cosmetological nightmare (or, as I like to call it, another day at work)!

Yesterday & Tomorrow.

*Yes, the same damn finger that I always hack open with my shears now has a huge scabby burn all over it. As a plus, though, perhaps this burn will finally encase the knuckle with enough scar tissue to make it impossible to slice open with an errant slice of the blade. God knows that severing the knuckle off and forming scar tissue in its place didn't do a fat lot of good.