Day 16 Finally done
Jul. 10th, 2008 05:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kitewithfishday 16
“Is it okay to use normal hand lotion on the scars?”
“Huh?” I was startled out of my reverie. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine, the scars are all healed up nicely.”
“I was about to say- they look very clean and small for scars from a car accident. I have some uncles in a machine shop in a machine shop, when they lose a finger it heals up way worse than this.” She draws a fingertip gently down the pale line at the end of my knuckles.
“My fingers didn’t actually get cut off in the accident itself. They pinched between the door of my car and the car that crashed into us. The actual amputation happened at the hospital the next day, when they figured they couldn’t pin the bones together enough to fix them.”
“Oh, I see.” And she did seem to pick my hand up and look at it a bit more closely. “That would explain it. It’s really not a bad scar at all.” She seemed earnest enough about it. I don’t really want to think about what a machine shop could do to someone’s hands after a lifetime of working there.
“No, it’s not bad. It just rubs funny when I write.”
“You still write with your right hand?” She asked, and I resisted the obvious pun with some difficulty. She was starting to seem
“Yeah. You only really need your thumb and first two fingers for that.” My left hand was starting to feel soggy in its little bath thing, but she’s painting some sort of liquid on a tiny brush across the base of my nails.
“What is that?”
“Oh. It’s cuticle oil- that and the bath helps loosen the cuticle that’s attached to the nail. You need to push it back for the polish to stick on right.”
“Okay then.”
“It’s aaall part of the service,” she says with a smile. Her front teeth are a little crooked. She finished my right hand and stick it in the tub while she fished out my left.
“Alright, now I’m going to take this little stick,” she holds up a tiny lance, “and push back your cuticles. It might pinch a little.” She takes the pointy stick and starts rubbing in sharply in circles over my thumb. It’s rather strange and more than a little fascinating. It reminded me of a dentist scraping off plaque. It did pinch a little.
She moved on to my fingers, and when she was done on the left she moved to the right. Again she seemed to make a point of being delicate, but even going slower she was done more quickly. After, only three nails to deal with.
“Is it okay to use normal hand lotion on the scars?”
“Huh?” I was startled out of my reverie. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine, the scars are all healed up nicely.”
“I was about to say- they look very clean and small for scars from a car accident. I have some uncles in a machine shop in a machine shop, when they lose a finger it heals up way worse than this.” She draws a fingertip gently down the pale line at the end of my knuckles.
“My fingers didn’t actually get cut off in the accident itself. They pinched between the door of my car and the car that crashed into us. The actual amputation happened at the hospital the next day, when they figured they couldn’t pin the bones together enough to fix them.”
“Oh, I see.” And she did seem to pick my hand up and look at it a bit more closely. “That would explain it. It’s really not a bad scar at all.” She seemed earnest enough about it. I don’t really want to think about what a machine shop could do to someone’s hands after a lifetime of working there.
“No, it’s not bad. It just rubs funny when I write.”
“You still write with your right hand?” She asked, and I resisted the obvious pun with some difficulty. She was starting to seem
“Yeah. You only really need your thumb and first two fingers for that.” My left hand was starting to feel soggy in its little bath thing, but she’s painting some sort of liquid on a tiny brush across the base of my nails.
“What is that?”
“Oh. It’s cuticle oil- that and the bath helps loosen the cuticle that’s attached to the nail. You need to push it back for the polish to stick on right.”
“Okay then.”
“It’s aaall part of the service,” she says with a smile. Her front teeth are a little crooked. She finished my right hand and stick it in the tub while she fished out my left.
“Alright, now I’m going to take this little stick,” she holds up a tiny lance, “and push back your cuticles. It might pinch a little.” She takes the pointy stick and starts rubbing in sharply in circles over my thumb. It’s rather strange and more than a little fascinating. It reminded me of a dentist scraping off plaque. It did pinch a little.
She moved on to my fingers, and when she was done on the left she moved to the right. Again she seemed to make a point of being delicate, but even going slower she was done more quickly. After, only three nails to deal with.
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Date: 2008-07-10 09:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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