IT WAS ALL STINGY WINGY

This blogger is not a rugged individualist, but sometimes he feels like it. What will prompt this is the sensation of pain. Rugged individualists often poo-poo namby pamby comfort, and relish minor physical suffering.
I do not relish it, but sometimes I take it for granted.

There is a small cut on one of my fingers.

Teensy weensy, less than an inch.


Yesterday I managed to get the following substances into that cut, entirely without trying:

Coffee. Hot soapy water. Glass cleaner. More water. Cigar ash. More water. Frat-boy party vodka (used for cleaning out filthy briar pipes and mouthpieces all gunked up with tar). Pipe stem gunk. Wax. Both red and white buffing compound. Water. Salt. Bleach. Zippo fluid (used to strip grease from woodgrain). More vodka, and more water.
More glass cleaner.

When I got home, more water. More soap. More water. Tomato.
Sriracha hot sauce. Then more water.


You know, when wounds heal it's a frikkin' miracle.
We rugged individualists understand that.
It happens all the time.




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