When I was 16 and a true blonde. I volunteered to help with a group of children on an outing to the park. Seems simple enough, however, when you let children out of the door and shut after, one must remember not to stick their own finger in the way. When I break a bone I choose tiny bones. The end of my finger bones. The very tip of my finger behind the nail. Even this tiny bone can be broken in the worst way. A double compound fracture. This mistake left the top of my finger dangling. Pushing it back into place I immediately screamed for help. The Doctor sewed stiches through my nail and did his best to reattach, though a little crooked.
Though all this, my finger hurting and nearly chopped off, was not my greatest concern. In true 16 year old fashion, I was more worried that I would have to cancel my date to prom that evening. Now this wasn’t just any Prom. This was my first date ever prom. This was my first date ever with the senior who I shared Typing class with. This was my first date ever with the senior boy in my typing class that I bored holes through the back of his head with my eyes.
Let’s just say the pain of the finger would never match the pain of missing this date. So I didn’t!
