Too bad he's a south paw.

For family night, Papanwa decided to smash his finger between a truck bed and a large log. (Note: Contrary to natural assumptions, he was not actually working at my house at the time. Like the dutiful parent he is, he completed our yard work on Saturday. Which was his birthday.)


He's a tough guy. In the past, he's been known to drill through his own toenail at the job site, replace his work boot, and then finish out the work day in blood-drenched socks. Let me reiterate that for emphasis. While I have been known to apply Neosporin liberally to a papercut and delicately bandage for an entire week, he once drilled through his own toenail and then finished the work day.


(Note numero dos: Graphic pictures below.)

Right. So a few layers of skin sheared off the top of the finger probably isn't that big of a deal?

Right. But a literal skin explosion on the underside, filleting open his finger like a fine cut of beef? Slightly bigger deal.

Don't worry. He drove himself home, (repeat: drove himself home without squealing the entire way like a piglet/me) picked up Mom, and then wandered over to the ER. There, over the course of nearly 4 hours, they cut off his wedding ring with a handy tool,

cleaned him up a bit, and then stitched, splinted and bandaged his now mignon-like appendage. Took it like a champ, too.

Afterwards, Pookiebear, Floyd and I met them at IHOP for a midnight snack. Because what goes with mangled flesh like an omelet and a short stack?

Turns out that he also learned how to eat with his right hand for family night.