Betrisher
Well-known member
- Jun 3, 2013
- 4,253
- 177
- Parrots
- Dominic: Galah(RIP: 1981-2018); The Lovies: Four Blue Masked Lovebirds; Barney and Madge (The Beaks): Alexandrines; Miss Rosetta Stone: Little Corella
Sadly, I've got nothing to talk about this evening, so I thought I would dredge the bottom of my barrel and talk about my Serious Wound.
See, I was sittin' watchin' the Winter Olympics with hubby. As I watched, I worked away on my quilt pieces, hand-stitching them together. It was very nice and companionable and relaxing, y'know? Well, I reached a thick bit in the sewing and without stopping to remember I hadn't got my thimble on, I went PUSH against the needle with my tall-man finger.
I cleverly managed to push the threaded end of the needle so far under my fingernail that the threaded eye disappeared. That hurt somewhat. After bellowing like a great bull for a moment or two (during which that heartless beast, my husband, said 'Shhhhhhh! I want to hear the score!') I then reached for the handy-dandy pair of pliers in my birdie toy shelf, took hold of the needle and pulled it out from beneath my fingernail. Now, that hurt substantially more: I think you could say I was actually screeching with the pain just then. At least it only lasted another brief moment and then I set about getting some boiled water and salt to soak my poor, misfortunate finger in.
That was about an hour ago and I've now got a lovely Harry Potter band-aid nestled over my throbbing fingertip. It only hurts when I have to type 'k' (ouch!), 'i' (ouch!) or ',' (ouch!) so I shouldn't complain. What's really narking me is the blood I bled onto my fabric. Then again, I shouldn't complain: it's dark pink (the fabric) and the stain hardly shows. However, I know it's there and will shortly attempt to (grossness warning!!!!) suck it out. Sigh.
NB. As every needlewoman knows, bloodstains are fairly easily removed by the spit of the person who bled them. Hence the suckage. After that, I will soak the piece of fabric, rinse it, dry it, iron it and re-baste it onto a bit of paper. Only then will I be in a position to stitch it back on to its neighbour.
Oh. Did I mention the piece of fabric is not much larger than a postage stamp? Before you ask: no, I don't have any more of it. This is why I write my sad story so I can be comforted by my brothers and sisters of the feather. :52:
Your friend,
Stabbed Betrisher
See, I was sittin' watchin' the Winter Olympics with hubby. As I watched, I worked away on my quilt pieces, hand-stitching them together. It was very nice and companionable and relaxing, y'know? Well, I reached a thick bit in the sewing and without stopping to remember I hadn't got my thimble on, I went PUSH against the needle with my tall-man finger.
I cleverly managed to push the threaded end of the needle so far under my fingernail that the threaded eye disappeared. That hurt somewhat. After bellowing like a great bull for a moment or two (during which that heartless beast, my husband, said 'Shhhhhhh! I want to hear the score!') I then reached for the handy-dandy pair of pliers in my birdie toy shelf, took hold of the needle and pulled it out from beneath my fingernail. Now, that hurt substantially more: I think you could say I was actually screeching with the pain just then. At least it only lasted another brief moment and then I set about getting some boiled water and salt to soak my poor, misfortunate finger in.
That was about an hour ago and I've now got a lovely Harry Potter band-aid nestled over my throbbing fingertip. It only hurts when I have to type 'k' (ouch!), 'i' (ouch!) or ',' (ouch!) so I shouldn't complain. What's really narking me is the blood I bled onto my fabric. Then again, I shouldn't complain: it's dark pink (the fabric) and the stain hardly shows. However, I know it's there and will shortly attempt to (grossness warning!!!!) suck it out. Sigh.
NB. As every needlewoman knows, bloodstains are fairly easily removed by the spit of the person who bled them. Hence the suckage. After that, I will soak the piece of fabric, rinse it, dry it, iron it and re-baste it onto a bit of paper. Only then will I be in a position to stitch it back on to its neighbour.
Oh. Did I mention the piece of fabric is not much larger than a postage stamp? Before you ask: no, I don't have any more of it. This is why I write my sad story so I can be comforted by my brothers and sisters of the feather. :52:
Your friend,
Stabbed Betrisher
