Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You know what's it's like to be scorned? I do. That's why I only have 9 fingers. It's kind of a long story, but, well, here goes.
It was kind of an accident. I was cooking dinner with my girlfriend at the time, Lauren, and we started having a spat about something or other and things got heated. And I mean more than just the oven, she was a gasket waiting to blow and I was trigger happy. She wasn't a terribly stable person nor was I terribly nice. She picked up a knife we had cut up some chicken with and aimed it at me to emphasize her point. It dripped a slow juice down on the linolium. I dared her hard with my eyes and her voice raised more hell than the Devil's birthday party. I didn't think she would do anything with it but when she cocked her arm back I grabbed her wrist with my right hand and she started struggling so I put my left hand on the counter for balance. Our polar forces couldn't chill out and the energy was deflected to my left. I flipped my supporting hand over to grab her wrist but the blade came down too fast and went right through my pinky.
It didn't even hurt at first. We were both just shocked as it rolled onto the floor. We left for the hospital before we thought to grab some ice. Unfortunately it was rush hour and we didn't get there in time for them to sew it back on.
They asked if I wanted to keep it. I still had my teeth from when they ripped the wisdom out of my head so I said, "why not?" There was a nod and twenty minutes later I received a tube of formaldehyde in an ironic "have a nice day" bag. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with an unattached digit but I was ready to get out of there. On the way out, Lauren asked if I was ok. I just stopped dead in my tracks, glared at her, and gave her the finger.
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