… now let’s talk about my paper cut.

Friday the 13th was not just bad luck for my sister and the 5000 others who were evacuated from their houses to escape a raging wildfire. It was also a day of calamity for me. I got a paper cut under the fingernail on my left index finger.

I don’t know how it happened but I realized I had a paper cut while cutting up citrus fruit to make a salade de fruits.

A short lesson in chemistry: Citrus acid + paper cut = foul-mouthed typist.

I believe I’ve done the right thing by remaining stoic and silent throughout the fire crisis. It just wouldn’t have been right to complain about a paper cut while devastation stalked those close to me.

But the fire is out now, and my sister and family are back home and getting on with their lives. And we are happy about that.

Meanwhile, my paper cut rages on. Without sympathy.

I think I’ve earned the right to some complaining and sympathy. So with no further adieu.

Typing has been a trial. It has been an exercise in selfless determination to get these words out to you on this blog. But I’ve done this for you, my friends. Through the pain of the paper cut.

My sense of duty knows no bounds. Yes, acid rushes into my paper cut when I cut up fruit for smoothies each morning, but I soldier on for the sake of the children. I put their health above my paper cut. And at night, I grimace again as I cut up fruit for their bedtime fruit-plates. Such is my devotion.

So please everyone, spare a thought for a stricken typist. Send a message of best wishes as you did for my poor dear sister ( who BTW is safe and fine now so you can stop sending messages wishing her well!)

My papercut and I will be eternally grateful for just a small pebble of your attention and/or sympathy.

Thank you in advance.