The sharpest cut

About six months ago, I was in the mood for sweet potato french fries, so I dug the old mandolin out of the back corner of the cabinet where I store it, washed it up, and went to work. And after cutting only about five slices, I did a partial amputation of my right middle fingertip.

I should have expected it. After all, the darn thing's cursed.

The mandolin, you see, was a gift from The B*tch. (If you look back in February's archives, you can read a bit about our history with her.) TB was a HUGE fan of sweet potato fries from a restaurant in Tulsa, and was also aware that cutting very thin slices of sweet potatoes without a mandolin is almost impossible. Her solution? She bought ME a mandolin so I could make HER sweet potato fries. Such thoughtfulness.

I was using the protective guard, but it slipped and my fingertip went across the blade instead. It was amazingly painful, and became more so when Robert put a pressure bandage on it. Because it was my middle finger, I kept banging it and starting the bleeding again, so for days I had to wear a splint to protect it from everyday wear and tear.

So six months have passed. My fingernail, which was cut practically to the cuticle, grew back good as new, and I have a nice moon-shaped scar on the fingertip. The non-cut side of the scar still hurts, but the cut side (the blade went through at an angle) hasn't regained sensation yet. But I can type and do anything else I need, so it's no problem.

Did I mention that the next time I dragged the thing out to slice something, Robert took over the slicing (to protect me from further damage) and cut his own finger? After that, the damn thing went into the trash. I really do think TB put a curse on it. She'd be just the type to do it. Even now, I can imagine those nasty little blades creeping across the landfill, slicing and dicing anything that gets in their way . . . . Rachel1:26 PM