It's taking some convincing to get Steve to agree to let me put this on the blog and the constant reassurance that it's not out of spite or anger has won over his guilt.
The date was May 9th, we were in Dominica and had a pleasant hike to the Middleham falls in the morning. The bus system here is a network of collective vans. We took one to the dive shop and I am standing outside holding onto the van for balance over the open sewer. Just as I am about to ask the driver how much for the ride Steve hops out of the van and slams the door on my hand. My three fingers are trapped at the knuckles, lodged between the panel and closed door. I am in shock that this has actually happened and I can see the look of horror on the other passengers faces. Some of them even rise out of their seats to get a better stare at what the tourists are up to. Steve realizes what's happened as I yell in pain and he unlatches the door to free me. I'm thinking pain means I can still feel them, and yes, they are still attached. Luckily only the index finger has a deep gash and the others are bruised. Now I can add “you slammed the door on my fingers” to the existing “you left me at the Straits of Magellan” guilt trips.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
oh yeah, well remember that time...
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2 comments:
Smashing Mary's fingers, thats no way to treat a "Lady", didn't I teach you anything. Hope they are all ok now.
That happened to me when I was five when my Dad slammed the van door as I was getting out. I don't remember much before the age of six, but that I do remember that for some odd reason.
Do, what I did. Give him headaches for the next 25 years! hahahaha.
I don't know why they don't put on the doors nice little picture symbols of people with their fingers bent backwards with big cross over it?
Well, at least your index finger was working. Too bad the middle finger was working at that moment. :-)
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