Thumbs, Paper Cuts, and Band Aid Care

Thumbs are wonderful things. Have you ever really thought about them? They are rather funny looking, I suppose, but just think of all they accomplish in a day. I mean, really think about it.

There are green Thumbs, thumbs in libraries Thumbing pages, roadside thumbs Thumbing rides, competitive thumbs duking it out in Thumb wars ... all things considered, thumbs are very busy digits.

Regardless of the digit's astounding abilities, I don't think that I had given thumbs much thought until the other night when I got a great, whacking paper cut on one of them - my favorite thumb, if you must know. The right one.

Paper cuts really hurt. They do, REALLY. But there is also something at the very core of these little wounds that has a way of making a person feel completely stupid. You think, "How? Why? Grrr to me!" And the irritation is compounded due to kicking yourself ... myself. Do you know what I mean?

Okay, so, I managed to get the afore-mentioned, irritating paper cut, I cursed my stupidity, went to the bathroom cabinet to find rubbing alcohol for disinfecting (just in case) and the Band-Aid stash for comfort, and there, I plopped onto the toilette seat and began to doctor my wound. Might have been whining just a little too, I won't say for sure. While all of this was happening, Handsome was getting out of the shower.

Now, it is very important that you have the right picture in your mind at this point. It was the end of a long day, my hair frazzled, my make-up was gone, my glasses were sliding down my greasy nose, and I was sitting, slouched on the pot, of all places, and complaining. Not at my loveliest. Handsome, on the other hand, doing his best to get dried off and out of the path of an irritated, band aid slinging, crazy woman - quickly. Or so I thought.

But here is what happened next ... I managed to get the paper cut cleaned, and as I was reaching for the bandage, Handsome gently took it from me and started to open it.

My first reaction was to say, "Give that back! I can do this! I am capable of taking care of myself!" As I say, that was my first reaction, but I only got so far as making a sort of a weird, half-grunt sound that died - stunted - as he kindly took my hand in his.

I truly don't think that he even realized how he was affecting me. He acted like there was nothing in the world he would rather be doing or that would be expected of him. He stood there in his underwear, taking care of me. He had been hurrying out of the shower to take care of me.

You might think this sounds completely weird, but I felt so loved.

Once the bandage was on, which took a matter of seconds, he leaned in, kissed me (remember, it was the UNattractive me he kissed), and then went about his normal routine -- completely oblivious of the impact his actions had made.

He loves me.

See, here's the proof.

A little story about nothing? Yes, but here is what I was reminded of by my loving man - sometimes, I can make the biggest impact on people by being just a little bit concerned about their wounds.

I am so thankful for my thumbs and for the man who loves them.