The Male Gene

As I sit on my couch, excitement mounting on the inside, I look down at my new ScumBuster with a heighten sense of joy. Now, I know what you a thinking, "this 26 year old male is excited about something used for cleaning bathrooms? Sounds like too many fumes for that Kid." But in my defense (not that I need to defend myself) it was made by Black and Decker so technically it is a tool and tools are manly, and I am all that is man. Anyway, I had been to Lowes and both Home Depots in town to track down this "tool." It is basically a battery operated tub cleaner. It has different brushes that are used to kick soap scums ass and restore your bathroom to it's original greatness (cha-ching, the sound of a royalty check cashing). How does it work you ask. Well, hell if I know.

As I was pulling it out it's package and using an exacto knife to cut the annoying security ties, my hand slipped and the knife came to rest in my middle finger of my left hand. No pain, but a grunt of displeasure at how this was going to throw off my day. I journeyed to the bathroom to clean and bandage the wound. As the dark red blood flowed I examined the cut to see how deep it was. Now, I am not what one would call an expert in the art of medicine, so decided to "Phone a Friend." Or in this case a man with past experiences of stupid wounds, that's right I called my dad. He and I talked and I decided, just to make sure, I would go to the doctor to see if stiches were necessary. I wrapped it up and set off to the quick care center. I felt a little sheepish walking into the waiting room with a possibly minor cut. But it kept bleeding so I continued. After exchanging witty banner with the admitting nurse she asked me what happened. I replied with what had happened and added I was being stupid. She promptly told me that was the male gene hard at work. For this I had no retort, because she was a nurse after all...well, mostly because she was right. So I filled out the paper work and sat down watching whatever crappy soap was on the 16 inch TV high the corner 20 feet away. After a while I noticed my finger had stopped bleeding and it didn't look that bad. I went to tell the admitting nurse I was just going to bail, but she convinced me to hang round just to make sure. So, I did, she is a nurse after all.

The doctor came in. He was a short round man with scrubs almost pink from wear and washing. In squeaky voice he examined my finger bending his white, balding head over blocking my view. I got the standard grunts, Hmms, and other "bedside Manner" learned in the Tropic Island Medical School, and then he left the room. He returned a minute later with "Surgical Adhesive." He returned with super glue, albeit sterilized, but still it was super glue. He put some of my finger and that was it. I paid my copay, a little pissed I paid 20 bucks for super glue and an hour of my day lost, then I left. At least I knew I would be fine and not have to worry about infection.

I get home and start cleaning, because it relaxes me if you must know. Well within the first ten minutes of being home I bumped my finger and it starts bleeding again. I let slip some terms most of you would deem unacceptable. It didn't' hurt, I wasn't worried about what had blood on it, I was pissed off because I had lost twenty bucks for something that didn't hold. I decided to go to my junk draw and become a doctor myself. I found my super glue and put a heaping amount on the cut and finger. No more problems. Now I will have a scar, be out some money, and I have to buy more super glue. I guess the male gene not only allows for stupid mistakes, but makes acceptable stupid cures, like over the counter super glue for deep cuts. Now next time I cut myself, loose a limb, or break a bone I am going to try to fix it with super glue to same some time and money. If that doesn't work then I will think about going to the doctor, but I'm going to give it the ole male gene try first.