nobody makes me bleed my own blood

[or, why i am actually bella swan in disguise. minus the whole vampire thing]

have you ever flayed your finger on a baldwin piano? because i have.
in a moment of clumsiness and fated page-turning disaster, i flailed to keep my sheet music from scattering onto the floor and caught my pinkie finger on a [unbeknownst to me] chipped a-6 key. a few shouted mf-ers later, i look down to see blood pouring from my finger. thanks to a husband who can keep his head in a bloody-crisis, the wound was washed and boy came at me with a q-tip soaked in neosporin. at the horrific suggestion that we pull back the flap of skin that was beginning to clot my blood in order to disinfect it, i squealed and hopped around until he gave up and just swabbed the wound as it was; meanwhile, i trembled. once that was over and i was left with a verystingy finger, he then came at me with a bandaid that i am still convinced is too small for said wound. now, even though my blood is soaking through, i'm too afraid to change it lest any of the stickiness has attached to any part of the open cut. later, i did a crazy hibigibbies dance as boy made fun of my initial reaction to his treatment schemes and it still sends shivers down my spine. paler, sadder, amused by the irony of such a bizarre incident having been the result of playing part of the twilight score, and one tasty rum beverage later, i still cannot believe that just happened to me.

boy, however, is unsurprised. a worrying prospect?
more on the week at the beach later. sigh..