I told him to quickly submerse his foot in cool water as it was grimy enough to hide his actual skin color (eeeewwww!). He was screaming at the top of his lungs that it hurt and he couldn't put his foot in the water as it was too hot! I had the water set at cool.....just sayin'. I told him to clean it with some soap and a rag to get the dirt out of it. "I'm dyin' here! It hurts soooo baaaad!" Uh huh. He then decided to put peroxide on it. Yeah, THAT will feel better than soap and water. As he was screaming at the top of his lungs in pain in his best little girl voice, rolling on the floor, cradling the wounded appendage, I, being the kind and feeling healer/teacher, told him to stop being a wimpy cry-baby and pick up his sorry carcass so I could look at the toe. He put his nearly severed digit on the edge of the toilet so I could apply the aforementioned Neosporin with pain relief and bandages. I then gently applied those same bandages with the skill of a seasoned surgeon, slapping them in place to make sure they would not fall off. He was grateful, yet nearly unconscious with the pain and trauma of his ordeal.
That being said, over two weeks ago the nail of my large toe of my right foot was viciously ripped off followed by profuse bleeding. Did I cry? No! I laughed! Laughed I tell you, walking confidently into the bathroom with nary a limp to bathe my wound in cold water in the bathtub to stanch the bloodletting that would have indeed rendered a weaker soul senseless. My old nail had since fallen off to soon be replaced by a new, better, faster, stronger, bionic toenail. Yes, the technology does exist for this.
My telling of this story is only to prove that men are big babies when it comes to injury. Women are the far superior beings. I now leave room for my sweetheart to enlighten us with his version of the truth (please remember he's a man).
From where I sat all I can say is there was much screaming, taunting and laughing. I dare say no more.
