Beware The Wild Butter Knife

I'm struggling to type this as I sustained a rather debilitating injury this afternoon.  While trying to open a sac of Mozzarella without spilling the cheese water all over the place (I know, crazy right?) I somehow managed to take a chunk out of my left index finger with a butter knife.  We're talking dull, short, can barely saw through a baguette.  A legit butter knife.

At first I thought I was fine...it just looked like I had peeled up a rather large layer of skin.  One of the staff members asked if I needed a BandAid and I shook my head.  Then the blood started gushing.  I held it under warm water while she hurried off to find a bandage and some kind of antiseptic wipe, and then I gingerly cleaned it up.  She commended me for suffering silently and then made sure I was ok before leaving me to finish making my delicious pesto-and-mozorella-on-a-croissant sandwich (which the staff had never seen...I assumed croissants were fair game for sandwich material, but they said it was a brilliant idea, and then suggested next time I use Nutella instead of pesto and cheese).

It's been several hours and from the minimal amount of blood that has leaked through the BandAid, I'm assuming I'm not going to, like, lose my finger or anything, but it hurts like crazy if I touch anything.  I'm debating whether or not I'm brave enough to change the BandAid tonight, because I remember it being quite a gash and I really don't want to have to take care of it.  Then again, ignoring these kind of things is how they get infected.

Hmmm...

I further news, this weekend my friends and I are planning out all of our international excursions for the semester including our much anticipated weekend trip to Ireland.  If the Guinness in France is especially good, it must be unbelievable in Ireland.

I still can't get over the novelty of being of local drinking age.  It's not like I've actually had much alcohol, but when I'm out with friends and we step into a bar or order Cidre Douce with our crêpes they don't even card us.  When I'm looking into concert tickets, I don't have to wonder if the venue is 21+.

This is where I have to leave you because,

1) My fingers are rebelling and I'm having to retype every single word at least twice, and
2) I'm ridiculously tired and deserve a nice long sleep.

À demain!