Why I almost wasn't your hairstylist.

When I got home last night, Brian was very worried about me.  I was staring off into space, teary-eyed. 

Brian, “Would you like some more to eat?”

Me, “I don’t know.”

All right.  Who doesn’t know if they’d like more to eat?

Me.  Because I had something else on my mind.  Yesterday morning I woke up and wrote a very pleasant blog about why I’m a hairstylist today.  A few hours later I was trying to get out of work.  You know me; whatever my hand finds to do, I do it with all my might.  It’s a work ethic.  But what happened in between those few hours was a little incident at the gym.  You see, I’m accident prone.  Upon putting a dumbbell away, I ended up smashing my finger with it instead – specifically my left ring finger.  I tried to shake it off, but the pain just intensified – both a fiery pain and a throbbing pain.  Then I took a peek and noticed that I was bleeding under the nail.  Just great.  Of course my first thought was my work schedule.  I had 8 ½ hours booked solid yesterday, 9 hours today and not a minute to spare tomorrow.  And these are the last 3 days of work before my vacation.  So if I couldn’t make yesterday’s appointments, they’d certainly have to wait almost another 2 weeks.

I iced my finger for 2 ½ hours.  In the meantime I called the salon and explained my situation to our receptionist.  We both knew I had no wiggle room.  I was envisioning a few particular appointments that were very difficult to reschedule and decided that in the long run the pain of making them up would be worse than the pain I was currently feeling in my finger.

Except I was slightly wrong.  Less than 2 hours into the work day I must’ve jolted the finger because I saw the blood begin to expand under the nail again.  I was in a mental tizzy, worrying about permanently losing a nail over a haircut that was only temporary and would once again need to be reshaped in 4-6 weeks.  It was a rough day. 

Couple all that with the fact that I couldn’t walk my dogs that morning (what with all the finger icing).  When I left for work, poor little Esther stared out the door with a Wait!-Did-you-forget-me? face.  I hate that face.  Because, no, I never forget her.  People say that I have strong heartstrings and that this will be hard when I have kids one day.  I believe that.

And poor Brian.  Whenever I’m this upset, he always thinks he’s in trouble.  So even though he did absolutely nothing wrong, that evening he was slinking around with a guilty look on his face.  He claims that he’s not used to things not being his fault.

I couldn’t blog this morning because I still couldn’t really use my finger.  This evening it feels much improved.  Here’s hoping for a full recovery!