However, money was just the problem. See, with this impending move (keys tonight, keys tonight), finances are tight as the old Scrooge himself. So I couldn�t really afford to have start up costs, like leather gloves. What to do, what to do. Well, I hadn�t yet packed up the fine new vegetable peeler, so I endeavored to peel my finger, eliminating the print.
I was confident this would be both easy and cost-effective. Sadly it proved too easy, and instead of taking a thin layer off the trial finger, I took a giant chunk out of it. Blood everywhere. The patient advisory nurse suggested the ER, but being exceedingly tight and unwilling to shell out the dough, I wrapped it in wads of gauze, covered that with enough tape to seal in the freshness, and took a nap.
In the morning, my finger was still there, though in rather sad shape, so again the advisory nurse suggested the ER, and again I refused. Instead I gave up on the idea of a life of crime and headed in to work.
Pops called from NY last night to laugh at me. He�s usually the one with bizarre health problems, the one who cuts himself and passes out. He�s relieved I�m doing enough for the entire family.
I believe this finger injury (okay, there might�ve been some smoked gouda, the aforementioned vegetable peeler and a pizza involved) might be retribution for having screamed at the CSR from �ATB� phone company and telling her I�d rather use smoke signals than her phone service. Or maybe for unwittingly insulting the owner of the mattress store, all hours before the accident.
No, that�s wrong. I�m simply not thinking clearly. All this moving and packing and setting up utilities, all while my hip flexors are flooding my brain with a barrage of pain notifications. Yes, I am supposed to be moving. No, I cannot sit, stand or lie down without extreme, screaming pain shooting around my hips to my lower back. How can I make sensible decisions? Good thing about that, though, is that I feel no pain from the finger crater. The back is taking up all pain receptors.
By god, I may be lame, but that bloody phone company�s getting a letter. Right now. I took the woman�s name, and I know she lied to me. On the Web site, you can choose to make your own plan, and you don�t have to pay $49.09 per month for local service only.
I strongly advise you to not mess with me. Or if you�re timid and need someone to stand up for your consumer rights, let me know. I can�t promise to keep my language clean, but I can promise I�ll feel better when I�m done. You might, too.
In other news, here�s my review of the highlight of the county fair:
The deep fried Milky Way will be our ruin.
Imagine chocolate malt-flavored nougat with creamy caramel coated in milk chocolate, nestled on an easy-to-use stick, dipped in funnel cake batter and deep-fried to golden perfection. No, really. Stop. Imagine a deep friend candy bar. Deeeep friiiied. It's like eating chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven, though that facile comparison ignores the noteworthy performance of caramel, which steals the show from the moment you bite through the toothsome exterior.
In short, it�s the most exquisite portable dessert we�ve seen since chocolate covered frozen cheesecake squares.