Thursday, July 24, 2008

Dr. mrpeenee is in

Saturday night, I stepped on a piece of glass. Tiny, tiny, tiny, so tiny I couldn't even see it, but I could sure as hell feel it and every day since then it got a little more uncomfortable. Finally, last night I soaked my foot in hot salt water, took a sterilized needle and... uh, got the sliver out. OK, that's all the thinly veiled gross details I'm going to indulge in; my real point is not specs about homemade exploratory surgery, but rather how amazing it is to me that removing it immediately made everything better. La la la lah lah de dah. No after effects, no transition, just, boom, all over.

Years ago, I never would have done this, I am such a pussy Ladyboy wimp about ouchies. I would have limped around hoping that wishful thinking and voodoo would make the glass fall out, but in the years that I've been struggling with my garden here in the land of the encroaching berry vine, I have by necessity become an adept at removing stickers and this was just more of the same. Maybe I'll start Botoxing myself like Pats did in Ab Fab.


  1. Brave, brave boy! And to think I'll go for months trying to convince myself that a toothache might actually work as a diet plan...

  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

  3. Good for you!
    I've never been very squeamish. I'm more of a DIY sort. I think I've actually stitched myself up once instead of going to a doctor. I'm more afraid of doctors than pain. I don't want to know what's going on in there. Not a good thing.

    And besides the bacteria in an untreated splinter is probably pretty much the same thing as Botox anyway, so if you can manage to get a splinter in lines around the eyes, Bingo!

  4. I faint at the sight of my own blood but seem to snap to when it's someone else's.

    A long-ago coworker smashed out his windshield with his forehead after swerving a light pole. As he was driving on a suspended license he rang my bell and had me matter-of-factly pickbut it glass shards from his forehead with my tweezers. He was bombed and I insisted he go to the ER but that wasn't how it played out.

  5. "PICK OUT" not 'pickbut'

    Sorry for the Freudian slip...



In Which We're Calling It In

In the middle of an unnecessarily annoying and complicated day last week, my phone decided to commit suicide. I was Ubering along playing Ya...