When I was eight, I stapled my thumb. I spent the night at Old Man Winter's house and while we watched Young Doctors in Love during the wee hours of the night, we were inspired to make a book. I am not certain what kind of book two second graders are inspired to write while watching that movie, so don't ask.
My job was to staple the pages together before we began production. I carefully stacked the sheets of folded paper, lined the stapler up with the crease, pressed on the top and slammed that staple deep into my thumb. I screamed like fresh meat during a first night in prison.
I remember Cody frantically trying to keep me quiet while he found a Band-Aid. It didn't work and his father, a Minister of Music, came downstairs to find my bleeding thumb and boobies on the television. Thankfully, as a Minister of Music, he was only versed in the teachings of a Baptist hymn book that surprisingly does not mention punishment for checking out boobies on cable television.
What made me remember this? I almost did it again. I was concentrating on work and absent-mindedly playing with my stapler. Luckily, I did not break the skin this time.
