2005-02-24 - 9:58 a.m.

Things were good: I paid off my car today! I own it. Just like a real grownup. It may be a pile of Swedish garbage, but I own it.

Then things were bad: I was sitting at my desk this afternoon, quietly proofreading, when I heard Brandis (my dear friend and coworker) say, �Oh my god.� There wasn't any urgency in her voice, so I assumed she was reading an unfortunate e-mail or something. A few seconds later I heard some shrieking and some scurrying. So I, too, scurried around the cubicle wall to see what was the matter. Brandis was standing at her desk looking a little stunned. When I asked what happened, she pointed to a little fleshy half-a-cashew-sized object on her desk and said, �I just cut that off my finger.� So I commanded her to put her finger under running water, which was totally the wrong advice. (Apparently, when one slices off the tip of one's finger, one should apply pressure. And I should know this, as I've been editing those damn Worst-C@se Scenario products for two years now.) So she just stood there applying pressure and soon there was a team of office moms gathered around with gauze and whatnot. The bleeding wasn't too bad, and Brandis got all bandaged up and was told she was OK. She's going to the doctor tomorrow�but in the meantime there was the question of what to do with the dismembered fingertip. Eventually she just decided to throw it in the trash.

Then we made up scenarios about the fingertip wanting to escape the confines of the trashcan, like The Thing. Or like the Wienerschnitzel mascot. I'm half expecting the fingertip to turn up on Cycle 4 of America's Next Top Model tonight.

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