The better-half installed a platform for me over the back stairwell so I could perch on the 6-foot ladder and get cracking on the painting of the stairwell and back hallway. I needed to move the ladder off the platform and started to fold it back up. That’s when my middle finger (what other one would get hurt) got pinched in the ladder.
The cloud of blue that flew out of my mouth was enough to make it impossible to see much of what was going on. I seriously considered opening the bedroom window and hurling the ladder out the second story. But, I chilled.
I cleaned up the wound which is actually a big chunk of flesh gone from the pad of my middle finger–on the part that would be covered in nail if this were the top of my finger. I then threatened the ladder, the paint, the platform and the house that if everyone didn’t get their shit together and leave me alone I was going to get the reciprocating saw out and go off. All the inanimate objects in the house took in a deep breath and I finished painting with only some difficulty as I kept trying to not bang my finger.
The better-half got home and said he couldn’t believe I didn’t destroy anything in my rage. I told him about chilling and threatening.
He’s the one who got to clean up the brush and roller since the thought of cleaning up paint with a gaping hole in my finger made me a little faint. Don’t say ain’t, your mother may faint, and your daddy might fall in a bucket of paint. Must be the paint fumes.