Put a splint on it?

I'm clumsy. Like, really clumsy. I drag my feet when I walk, turn my ankle almost every time I wear heels and was constantly the featured entertainment in my study abroad group because me + Europe + cobble stones = constant opportunities for tripping myself. It isn't uncommon for me to be covered in bruises & scrapes and have no idea as to the origin of any of them.

Over Memorial Day weekend this year, I truly outdid myself. My family had just left after spending two straight weeks with me and I decided that to ease the part of my heart that was breaking to see them go back home I would spend my Sunday evening cooking. Cooking - baking especially - has always made me feel better. I used to make cupcakes in high school every time I was upset about a boy or a fight with a friend or anything. There are few problems in life that sugar can't make a little better. The older I've gotten, the broader my repertoire of recipes has become, and so this particular "cooking therapy" was going to be spent making several treats for a family BBQ the next day.

Making my favorite potato salad and getting a little too comfortable with a super sharp chef's knife that had literally emerged from the womb of it's plastic casing minutes earlier, I endured a small injury. Now, I am no stranger to cutting myself in the kitchen - I'd say when I'm cooking regularly, there is a 1 in 5 chance I will nick a finger nail, stab my palm or draw a small amount of blood when I get a little lazy with the blade in my hand. But I immediately knew that this was different.

For one thing, it hurt like HELL. I ran it under cold water for a minute or so, but realized that wasn't helping. I was in a little bit of a panick because I know nothing about medicine (other than a. I'm not cut out for that, b. it's scary and c. if you see red, apply pressure) and as it would happen, my mother aka medical advisor was flying 30,000 feet in the air back home to Seattle. I shed a couple of tears, not because of pain or being scared, but just out of sheer "what the BLEEP do I do?".

I ended up at the emergency room, which is thankfully just around the corner from my apartment. (Ironic, actually, considering I had just been joking the other day about how "Hey if anything ever happens to me the ER is just right there!") I showed up there, finger still covered with a paper towel I dare not take off, and you would be shocked how quickly they saw me. (Seriously, if you ever have to go to the ER for any reason, just know, if you are bleeding, they push you to the top of the list. Just FYI)
One hour, two stitches and three inches of gauze later, I walked out of the ER looking like I was newly engaged to a mummy.

I returned home, slumped onto my couch, stared at my left ring finger, and chuckled to myself. While so many women in my life were donning engagement rings & wedding bands on this very finger, I was sporting stitches and a splint. It was a perfect testament to the fact that I could not be LESS ready to take that step in my life. As clearly, if I can end up in the ER from the simple task of cutting a potato, I can't even take care of myself. It is proof that I am still learning, still too new to this whole adult thing to even consider replacing the gauze with a diamond.

I kind of loved the symbolism that had stumbled upon me during a time when my fridge is covered in bridal shower invites, wedding save-the-dates and baby announcements. (Although the method could have been a little less painful...) Opening my freezer to pull out ice cream is a constant reminder of how grown-up my dearest family and friends are becoming, and sometimes that can be scary to a girl like me who is still figuring out how to just be herself.

There are still so many things I want to do and experience before I take a step in my life where every decision I make centers around not only me but another person. I am not ready to share my closet with boy clothes. I like sleeping smack-dab in the middle of my queen-sized bed. I love not having to explain to someone why I am crying during an episode of Teen Mom. And most of all, I am in an absolute love affair with the freedom that comes with being 20-something and 100% in control of my own destiny.

Someday I might be ready to give all of that up, if the right boy comes along and sweeps me off my accident-prone feet. Knowing me, the "sweeping" will probably result in an injury - and if he's worth it, I won't care.

♥mb.