Wednesday, December 03, 2003


My 10 year old cousin walked in on Thanksgiving and asked, "where's your sister? Is she in the hospital getting stitches?"

To refresh for those who need it, I have never been trusted around knives in my family. When I was 13, I cut my finger cooking and had to get stitches. And then this past sumer, my first day in France, I sliced the same finger open again. (I still maintain it's because kitchen utensils are designed solely for right-handed people). But I usually keep the injuries self-inflicted.

However, last Thanksgiving, my sister and I were cutting up bread for the stuffing. She made a comment that they had given me the sharp knife. And I turned to make a comment to my mom, and when I turned back around, the sister had her hand near the knife, and I jerked back as a response. In doing so, I managed to slice her finger across the inside of her knuckle. She required 3 stitches and lost all feeling in her finger. Well she stopped by the other day to say that she had finally gained feeling back and could bend the finger far enough to snap.

So the moral of the story: I'm completely justified in requiring a professional chef for the rest of my life.