A Rose By Any Other Name Could Still Fuck You Up Pretty Bad

I was gardening yesterday when an errant rose thorn lodged itself deep in the knuckle of my thumb. I uttered a few expletives, yanked it out and carried on. By dinnertime it was a bit sore; by bedtime its range of motion was greatly diminished and was starting to swell.

Today it’s fucking agony. Every little bump or twitch is yelp-inducing.  Putting my bra on this morning was like attempting some sadistic trial in dexterity, and somehow, I’ve still got to get the thing off tonight. I’ve got a hefty course of Penicillin to kill the horrors festering under my skin, but in the meantime, my appreciation for opposable thumbs is growing. image


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