Regarding the Fate of my Hand.

To fully understand the story of what happened to my hand, you must first have an understanding of where I live.

Our neighborhood is adjacent to a very prestigious suburb of Birmingham.  We have no pretenses that our adjacency makes us included in any way – we are unincorporated, not belonging to any city.

Which is perfect for us, because one of the main benefits of paying a high price for a house around here is the school system.  And, since we’re homeschooling, we didn’t want to pay for a school system we weren’t going to use.  Therefore, our house cost half of what our neighbor’s houses cost, and that makes us very happy.

However, this does make all of our local errands feel strange.  Since all of the retail centers around us are a part of this prestigious city, we feel a bit…awkward.

Not to say that the people of said prestigious city make us feel awkward – they’re all very nice.

(Except for one who, when I told her I had children the same age as hers, implying that we should have a playdate sometime, was very quick to answer “Yes, but our kids are in different districts.”  Thank goodness we got that cleared up – I’d hate to spread our unincorporated cooties to her kid’s school.)

Anyway.  Back to feeling awkward.  We just, sometimes, feel like the misfits.  As if we’re wearing a big sign on our forehead that says “UNINCORPORATED – DON’T FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO INCLUDE US.”

So.  I needed to get my hair cut.  And since my last couple of visits to the Aveda Training Salon have been less than thrilling (and I have this theory that every time you go, they give you someone less and less experienced, leading to my very last visit when my stylist had never even cut anyone’s hair like mine EVER BEFORE and my hair isn’t that unusual), I wanted a new salon.

(By the way, apparently having one hand in a cast makes you type in lots of run-on sentences.  For this, I apologize.)

I saw a Groupon-esque coupon come up for a salon near my house – i.e. in the aforementioned prestigious city.   Despite the fact that salon prices in said city would normally be unbelievably mortgage-your-unincorporated-house high, the deal was pretty good, so I bought it.

Close by, good deal – what more could you want?

Oh yeah – to not feel awkwardly out of place.

So I headed to the salon in the prestigious city on the prestigious street with an intention of minding my unincorporated manners.

I was surrounded by prestigious people getting their prestigious hair done while reading prestigious magazines and texting on their prestigious phones with the volume turned all the way up and therefore making loud (yet prestigious) beep-boop-beep-boops for HOURS ON END.

My hair appointment took quite a while, and I kept up my manners and tried to not let on that I was an alien from outer city.

I paid, I tipped well, and I left, cheering myself on for not even feeling too out of place.

I opened the door and stepped out of the salon…

And didn’t see that there was a STEP there.

I fell off the doorstep and twisted my leg.  As I was falling, I made a desperate attempt to save myself from certain stupidity and embarrassment by reaching back to catch myself.

Which I did accomplish, but unfortunately, what I grabbed was the doorframe.

Where the heavy glass-and-steel door was rapidly approaching it’s home.

And it didn’t appreciate that it had a hand in it’s home.


So there I was, half fallen over, twisted calf, hand crunched and bleeding in the door, and the whole prestigious salon has paused and was looking at me and my unincorporated bloody hand in horror.

“I’m okay!  …Sorry!!”

I ashamedly removed my now defunct hand from the door and shut it, hobbling away from the salon on my twisted leg as quickly as possible.

I got to my car and tried to get my keys, but my right hand wouldn’t work – at all.

My left hand begrudgingly took over, getting my keys and reaching around to start the car.  All the way home, my hand was in complete pain overdrive – I learned a long time ago that hand pain was the worst type, and this injury was no exception.

By the time I got home, my hand had grown to an impressive size, leaving my left hand feeling small and unimportant:

Left Hand

Right Hand

But I decided to wait it out.  Surely the swelling would subside soon…

But two days later, I still couldn’t use my fingers very well.  And the swelling, although slightly down, was still quite impressive.

(Plus, my friend Lydia reminded me how many bones are in the hand, and I began having visions of tiny crushed bone fragments swimming around in my hand and a half.)

So on Friday, I finally went in to get it X-Rayed.

“There aren’t any actual breaks, but you damaged all of the ligaments and seriously bruised the bones.  Which actually takes just as long to recover from than if you had gone ahead and broken them.”

And so, for at least the next two weeks, this is what righty will look like.


(But that’s okay, because I know something that you don’t know.)

(I’m not right-handed.)

But the moral of this story is, if you shop, dine, and get your hair done in prestigious cities where you don’t belong, they might eventually put invisible steps out to make you trip and fall.