Random Esquire

I used a mandolin this weekend to slice something.  You know what I ended up slicing?  The tip of my thumb.  Not clean off or anything. Instead, I had a trashcan lid of flesh hanging off the end of my thumb.  I put band-aids on it.  And then I decided my thumb was lonely and I managed to slice open the tip of my middle finger. Worse than my thumb.  Again, I left a hanging chad.  Again, multiple band-aids.  Then, at some point, after it had stopped bleeding,  I decided to peek under the flap on my middle finger.  That was a mistake.  More band-aids.

I had to put clean sheets on my bed.  So I took the sheets out of the dryer and made the bed.  And my band-aid mysteriously disappeared during that process.  Didn’t find it.  More band-aids on finger.  This time made sure they couldn’t come off.

The next day – today – I realized that the band-aids had been on my middle finger for more than 24 hours.  Wet, dry, whatever.  I decided to peel them off.

No bleeding. That’s good.

And then…

I noticed a smell.

I brought my finger up to my nose and took a hesitant sniff.

holy.

crap.

Well, now, look, here’s the thing.  If you smell something bad, what’s the first thing you do?  You have someone else smell it, right?  Except, no one else was around.

Except Little Filthy.

Okay, now, lemme just explain what you’re about to see.  I had been relaying the unsavory nature of my rotting finger on twitter.  The result was many suggestions that I had gangrene.  However, I can tell it’s just wet-fleshy-open-wound-band-aid smell.  But none the less, I thought it would be funny to take a picture of the dog smelling my rotting finger.

No.  I have no idea why these things occur to me.  I can not explain it.  I realize it is ridiculous.

So I grabbed my camera phone, pointed it at my finger and then called Little Filthy.

He jumped up on the couch, leaned in and I snapped the picture.

And then I yelled out loud.

See, I intended for him to *smell* it.

But this is what happened right when I snapped the shutter.

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