I Cut My Finger With a ‘Chainsaw’

It was about noon on Saturday. I had already finished trimming the bushes in the front yard using the electric hedge trimmer that my daughter affectionately refers to as ‘the chainsaw.’ She was furious that I could do such a thing without her and refused to let it go. As if I could turn back time so she could have a crack at it.

“Okay, tell you the truth, I missed a spot, right between the azaleas and the window. Come on, I’ll show you where.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Something quick and simple for her to do, so she’d shut up about it. It would take five minutes max, and then we could go back to lazy weekend activities.

She took the bait. We ventured out into the ninety-degree heat to ‘finish the job.’ Easy peasy.

I’ll admit I was micromanaging her. You tend to do that when your only child starts revving up at 18-inch bladed power tool, cackling and waving it around like Leatherface.

“Woah there, honey, watch your toes!”

Maybe the flip flops were a bad idea.

“What shape are you going for, a trapezoid?”

Leaves went flying and the plants were shrinking to a third of their original size. I shouted pointedly in the direction of this green blur of activity.

“Okay, that’s enough, Edward Scissorhands!”

I guess I had trouble recognizing her artistic vision. It’s difficult to negotiate with the girl holding a deadly weapon, but she eventually got tired of my comments.

“I’m going inside, she huffed,” hurling the meal behemoth onto the lawn and slamming the screen door behind her.

By this time, my judgement was compromised. Sweat soaked through my black t-shirt and jeans. The only beverage I’d consumed that day was coffee, and my brain was percolating inside my skull.

“Fine, I’ll get it myself.”

That’s right, the excuse I’d made up to appease my daughter’s need for inclusion in this deadly game became suddenly urgent.

I positioned myself between the foliage and the side of the house, tripping over the other plants and uneven ground. Then it happened. My middle finger made contact with the oscillating blade.

Blood gushed from my digit all the way down my arm. When I stumbled into the house, my loving daughter, for all quirks, sprang into first aid mode. She had me lying on the recliner with a wad of paper towels applying pressure on my wound and a bag of ice cooling my forehead within seconds.

What made me do it? It must have been a combination of dehydration, heat exhaustion, spite, and hubris that brought me down. I should have known better.

Hoisted by my own petard!

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Author’s Note:

Recognizing our front steps in the cover photo, #1 daughter became very offended that I would do something so naughty outside where anyone passing on the street might think the finger was aimed at them. I hadn’t even considered that. Did I mention she is a better person than me?

And since I still haven't made my word count, here are a few ‘safety tips’ on working in extreme heat.

1. Stay hydrated with Brawndo. - “It’s got what plants crave!”

2. Take frequent breaks to throw shade.

3. Wear light, loose fitting clothing or go nude. Suns out, buns out!

4. Schedule activities before or after peak mid-day sun. Dark deeds are best done under cloak of night.

5. If you feel weak or light-headed, go to the seaside like a Victorian lady with a case of the vapors. Then get yourself caught up in a passionate doomed romance.