What comes of over enthusiastically sweeping, pokey-out shiny nails, not knowing where to find a first aid kit and having an abundance of fabric scraps.
What a dingus.
Yesterday I decided I’d do a bit of a clean round our studio space, which ended as I used to tell my mum all cleaning would: in carnage. The result of a brisk downwards stroke of a heavy broom was tearing a short but deep gash in my ring finger. (I can only hope it will no longer be quite so deformed by next June!)
By the end of the day, the tie looked (to me) like an oversize cravat on a rather camp finger puppet I named Ferdinando. Matthew thought it was more like a riske 70s caftan, complete with plunging neckline and flowing sleeves, and called the finger puppet Clarice. Regardless, Ferdinando/Clarice refused to remove him/herself until he/she lounged in a warm bath for 20 minutes.
(A note to others who might find themselves in a similar situation: a. sweeping vigorously is for chumps; b. fabric bandages are great but they don’t hold a patch on actual gauze and should probably be replaced sooner rather than later; c. the removal of said fabric bandages should not be done swiftly.)