R.I.P. Finger Nub

When I met Chris, he had a little callous, a bump, if you will, on his right index finger. He had it for many years.

This spring, Chris starting teaching himself how to play slap guitar. I heard this Andy McKee song approximately seven thousand times.

All of this stimulation made this negligible bump grow. So much so, that when Chris came to see me in Minnesota, it looked like this:



This is not a very good picture, nor does it truly demonstrate how big the "nub" got. It started to take on a life of its own. It looked like a little alien being birthed out of the flesh of Chris's finger.

I was afraid he would accidentally rip it off, spewing undoubtedly noxious nub juice, pus, and blood, all over me, probably into my mouth and nose. That would be the grossest thing ever. Consequently, the sight of the thing grossed me out, and Chris knew it. There are very few things as disturbing as watching Twin Peaks eps on your couch and feeling a fleshy, mutant nub stroking your thigh. But this happened to me. Twice. No wonder I'm slightly odd.

Finally, Chris paid a visit to the dermatologist, who shot the finger up with lidocaine, then dug that sumbitch out, leaving Chris with a small hole on his fingertip. It looks like this:



Sexy.