Exact-o-ly What I Feared (SOL19 #20)

I’m a self proclaimed worrier. I can make a mountain out of a mole hill and can come up with the worst case scenario quicker than most. 

“Where’s that exact-o knife?” She was on a mission. A mission to stop the old table from scratching the floor. 

“Over in the cabinet to the right in the black toolbox,” I called from across the room. She walked over and got quickly to work. I looked up and thought, “Oooh. That might end badly.” I thought back to my own anxiety as I tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to cut the same tennis ball a month before.

I heard the audible GASP and saw her immediately put the knife and the tennis ball down on my table. The red blood started to come as she looked at her thumb and sized up the situation.

“Just go,” I said calmly. Inside, I was not as calm. I was instantly queasy. The way you feel when you see someone get hurt and can just imagine how the injury feels. It seemed as though every hair on my body feel like it was standing on edge. Sympathy pain I guess. 

Luckily all was okay. She’s a trooper. It was not nearly as serious as the 8 pages of an accident report that needed to be filled out. Don’t worry, I got to fill out the witness page.

(To read her account of the incident, check out this blog)