Manly wounds

Every once in a while a man has to prove to himself that he's still alive. He needs to test himself against nature and his body. When you push yourself to the limits and conquer your challenges you show that age has no power over you and that death is still a distant threat.

But then sometimes you decide to test yourself and you lose in glorious fashion. You get so defeated by your challenges that you just sit and shake your head and wonder what the heck happened to you. And on that note I would like to offer into evidence two bodily injuries I have recently suffered.


Notice first if you will the strange mark on my finger. I was helping the doctors in the Oral Surgery department open some vials of medicine. As I prepared to break the top off a vial one of the doctors joked that no one had ever cut themselves on these before. I looked up at him to laugh at his witty remark just in time for the vial I was holding to explode in my hand sending lots of tiny shards of sharp goodness into my finger.

This could have been the end of the story, but I wasn't about to be defeated by a little piece of glass. I'm almost a doctor after all so why shouldn't I be able to give my self a numbing injection into my finger, slice it open with a scalpel, and dig around in the now gaping wound with a spoon excavator? For those who don't know what that is imagine a tiny shovel, and then imagine digging that around your bloody finger while one of your friends sits over your shoulder telling you you're not going deep enough. I don't think I'll have any lasting damage beyond not being able to effectively pick my nose with my injured finger for a while.


Now I would like to draw your attention to the bluish tint found on my foot. Some of my other friends have been trying to get me to go skiing with them for a while now and I finally went out. We made a few runs with no problems and then decided to go off some of the bigger jumps. I made a run with no trouble other than a glorious crash, but then I made the mistake of jumping very high in the air and not landing on the downward slope but the very flat, very icy, very hard transition area. There was a resounding smack from the sound of my skis hitting the ground followed immediately by the sound of me screaming in manly agony. I tried to tough it out for a few more hours pretending that the tears in my eyes were from the cold wind and not by desire to curl up in a ball on the slopes and cry like a little baby. Eventually I announced that I had nothing else to prove and that I would now go hang out with all the teenagers in the cafeteria.

I now have 2 bruised heal pads which means I can't walk like a normal person. I have to walk on my toes all the time which looks, well, awesome. I've been prancing around the dental clinic for the past few days to some confused looks. But on the bright side my calves are getting an excellent workout.

So the lessons here are two fold. The first more subtle lesson is don't let your friends pressure you into slicing your finger open with a scalpel. The second and more obvious lesson: walking around on your toes all day is sexy, which is why girls wear high heels. I'm going to invent guy high heels. I'm going to call them guy heels and I'm going to make a lot of money. Lessons learned. Take that death!!