Once there was a 16 year old girl who was helping her dad work on the combine to get it ready for harvest. Dad had replaced all the sickle blades (the thing that cuts the wheat or whatever you are harvesting) and it was time to put it back in the combine. Dad had cautioned the girl that the blades were very sharp and she needed to be careful.
And she was.
For a little while.
Dad felt badly and spent hours standing over the girl as she typed or played the piano or practiced her clarinet, telling her to use that finger! And she did, cause she felt bad for being such a stupid idiot and she felt bad 'cause her dad felt bad.
After a time, the finger was almost as good as new although it was a bit crooked and the fingernail grew funny. The girl's sister enjoyed 'poking' fun at the crooked finger and the accident created a new source for family frivolity.
When the girl got married, her husband also enjoyed making little jokes about the finger. The finger was colder then anything else when it was cold. It hurt quite a lot when it was bumped. But most of the time it didn't have much feeling at all. The husband accused the girl, now a woman, of exaggerating her finger's feelings. He liked to joke around about many things, but one day, he learned that it was dangerous to joke about the finger.
The husband and wife were now parents of two lovely daughters and they often spent time at the wife's parent's farm and ranch, helping with what ever chores needed to be done.
One summer day, they were visiting and they decided to help out by mowing. First they mowed the parent's yard, then they went to the church to mow. The girl (wife) had a premonition of doom that day every time the husband approached a cutting instrument. He almost ran over an extension cord, then a water hose. He attempted to reach under the mower each time and his wife yelled at him to be careful. (She never sounded bossy or cranky by the way.)
When they were at the church, she elected to run the weed eater while he attempted to start a cantankerous mower. Amazingly, the mower started right up for him but the self- propel feature was not working. He looked down and saw that the chain was off the sprocket that made the mower self-propelled.
So he reached down.
And lifted the chain onto the sprocket.
With his finger.
Unfortunately, the sprocket and chain did not make so neat and crisp a cut as a combine sickle, so the doctors were unable to re-attach the end of his finger.
But it worked out ok. Cause his grandma bought him a new one that looked almost like the old one, only you could leave it in a box if you wanted.
It added a whole new dimension to the game of "Pull my finger."
And provided blogging material for the wife with writer's block.
Moral of this story: Be careful what you make fun of. It might be your destiny!
Many stories herein are subject to the faulty, and sometimes creative, memory of the blog owner and should not be taken as factual, although the names and events are real! Kind of.