Dear Right-Hand Index Finger,
First of all, let me apologize. I was in a hurry. Trying to toss the chicken, peppers and onions for those fajitas on a scalding hot skillet AND attempting to multi-task? That was dumb of me. I shouldn’t have tried to cut open that pack of Organic Valley cheddar at the same time. And when the scissors wouldn’t cut through that rubbery plastic that was literally, like, molded to the cheese? Well, I REALLY shouldn’t have turned to the butcher’s knife next.
Picking up that knife was Mistake Number One, obviously. Mistake Number Two, of course, splicing the tip of you open and letting loose a string of expletives I’m not proud of having unleashed. They were, however, words that got the attention of my husband. So I guess they did the job. And by job, I mean getting Nick to join me at the faucet with an “Ohmygawdwhathaveyoudone?!!!!!”
While I’m on a string of apologizing, let me just say I’m sorry you had to see me in the state I was in post-gash. I mean, really, could I have BEEN more of a girl? I went from fine to “I-think-I’m-going-to-toss-my-cookies” in 60 seconds flat. As I was laying on the floor next to the toilet, white as a sheet, blood soaking into the paper towel wrapped around my hand, I apologized to Nick too. (Who knew I’d be so apologetic in times of minor crises?) “Sorry to get all Bella Swan on you babe, but I think I’m either going to pass out or throw up,” I told him. It was a joke. He didn’t get it. Neither might some of my readers.
Having you out of commission for part of my week has left me with predicaments aplenty. After all, you are a VERY important appendage. The jerks on the interstate who don’t like my driving might say the digit beside you is more important, but come on, we all know who’s calling the shots on this hand. And it’s you.
So let me issue Apology Number Three and say I’m sorry for always taking you for granted. The list of ways you make my life immeasurably better start with taking the lead on helping me type 60 words a minute to being the finger that gets the job done when it comes to buttoning up those stubborn, just-out-of-the-dryer jeans. Especially when it comes to those jeans.
It’s times like these that I wouldn’t trade you for any other finger in the world. Of course, if I ever find myself stranded with a flat tire by the side of the road needing a ride, it’s Mr. Thumb I’d turn to but I shouldn’t be telling you that, right?
Yours affectionately,
Gail
(Photographer’s Note: I cannot lie .. I was totally inspired to have fun with this post based on my months-long obsession with the crafty writers who do this kind of thing 10 times better than I ever could over at McSweeney’s. If you want to read some HILARIOUS open letters, head there.
A few of my favorites:
An Open Letter to Jonelle, Who Sent a Three-Song Dedication to Her Boyfriend, Rob
An Open Letter to the People Behind The “Now That’s What I Call Music” Series
Hope you get a laugh out of some of them too!
See more of Gail’s work at www.gailwernerphoto.com. Friend Gail on Facebook. Follow Gail on Twitter.
by Gail Werner
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