The other day, my machine at work and I got into a minor disagreement. That’s if you consider trying to slice my finger off a reasonable way to settle an argument. In any case, the disagreement ended with me requiring minor surgery.
Basically, the doctor turned me into a human pincushion. Granted, I’ve got plenty of cushioning, but I could really do without the pins. At one point, I was beginning to wonder if she was performing surgery or reupholstering me.
Usually, I try to put people in stitches, not get them myself. Even the orderly seemed to appreciate my particular brand of bedpan humor. At least, I think that’s why he was laughing. You might be thinking: Isn’t it deadpan? Perhaps, but that sounded a little too ominous under the circumstances.
When the nurse came to check on me, I begged her not to look at my hideous finger. She laughed and assured me she’d seen much worse. I’m beginning to suspect she meant the rest of me.
Then she proceeded to dress my wound, apparently for Halloween. I told her that when I hand out candy this year, I can greet the kids with Frankenfinger. Especially fitting since the doctor warned me the skin around my cut might turn green.
My girlfriend could even dress hers up as the Bride of Frankenfinger. Although, you know what would be even scarier? Putting a ring on that Frankenfinger.
Of course, that admission might result in my girlfriend having a minor disagreement with my other finger. But on the bright side, if it needs bandages too, I can just tell the kids that one is a mummy.
