I had a little kitchen accident. I bought a delicious loaf of sourdough bread and was sawing (yes, sawing) off a hunk for breakfast when the middle finger on my left hand got in the way.

I immediately felt it, of course, and dropped the knife. But it was a second or two before it bled. Delayed reaction, I guess, but when the blood started flowing, it was fast and furious. Fingers and hands seem to bleed like heads -- copiously.

I ran my finger under cold water and wrapped it in layer after layer of paper towels. It was bleeding too much for me to see how much damage was done. Nothing was dangling, though, so I took that as a good sign.

After a couple of paper towels, I called my mom -- and I was surprisingly calm, if I do say so myself -- and asked her how long I should let a cut bleed before I considered heading over to urgent care for a look-see.

By this time, my kitchen sink looked like I'd tried to off somebody.

There was a lot of blood. Or at least it looked like there was a lot of blood. An important distinction, although the result -- at least the visual result-- is pretty much the same.

The river of blood slowed after about 30 minutes. Then it started up again. By that time, I'd moved to my bathroom vanity where I keep the first-aid stuff.

I was very impressed that I'd managed not leave a blood trail from my kitchen to the bathroom. I'd have had some 'splaining to do on that one.

On the weird observation front, my blood, as it dripped everywhere, was a very pretty color of red. It reminded me of my favorite red nail polish -- OPI's I'm Not Really a Waitress -- only without the sparkles. (Now that would have been impressive.)

Once the bleeding finally slowed down again so that I could take a good look, I saw I had cut loose a flap of skin. It was kinda gnarly.

I poured some hydrogen peroxide on it (You can imagine how good that felt.) and carefully dabbed on some antibiotic salve -- didn't want to start the blood waterfall again -- and wrapped my finger in a double-layered nonstick gauze bandage.

If anybody had been around, I would have been flipping them off -- inadvertently, of course.

It's surprisingly difficult to do things you wouldn't normally think of as two-handed tasks with just one hand. Brushing your teeth. Washing your face. Cleaning up blood.

Both sinks were pretty gross. Like I said, Sweeney Todd came to visit.

My pretty I'm-Not-Really-a-Waitress-sans-sparkle wet blood had dried to a color reminiscent of OPI's Chocolate Mousse. Looks nice on fingernails and toenails. Not so much spattered all over my sinks. And I had done the "ER" throw-the-bloody-towels-and-gauze-on-the-floor thing. Lots of Chocolate Mousse.

I know, I know. Eww.

The cut is healing nicely. I'm down to a simple Band-Aid, so I'm no longer flipping everybody the bird. (Rude much?)

Typing is great fun (At least, I'm not leaving bloody fingerprints on the keyboard.), but that's what I do for a living. And I seem to be doing a very good job of bashing my wounded finger into things several times a day. It's a talent. Everybody has to be good at something.