A Carrot-Pickin' Injury

Can you pick out the perp from the line up?

I (nearly) passed out on my bathroom floor yesterday.  The farmer was holding my hand above my head, examining the chunk of flesh or foreign matter that was protruding from my finger and causing the blood to drip down my hand.

I had been in the garden, enjoying a beautiful day, when the carrot I was attempting to pull out of the ground snapped.  I heard a crunch, felt some pain, and saw blood.  I cried out for my husband and slumped onto the ground.

As he helped me into the bathroom and washed up my finger, I imagined all the horrible kinds of injuries I may have sustained: severed finger tip, large rock or glass wedged through my finger, or worse yet, some kind of fingernail incident.

Laying on the bathroom floor, I couldn't stand the sight of my own blood, the nausea was intense, and my fears of a hospital visit, stitches, and a lapse in my freelance writing career swirled around in my head.  As my husband leaned over with a pair of tweezers, I protested and squirmed.

"I'm done," he declared.

"What was it?" I shuddered.  "My finger? Is there a piece missing?"

He struggled to find the source of the blood, as there was now none.  My finger looked whole.  Nothing was out of place.

"It must have been a piece of carrot."

"Oh," I sheepishly mouthed.  "I guess it got wedged under my nail.  I feel stupid."

My husband-turned-hero laughed, helped me up, and went on his way.  You always hear about those tragic farm-related accidents, but you never think they will happen to you.....


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