Breaked my finger

Sitting in the hospital waiting area is certainly a lot more entertaining when you have the benefit of pain medication, but even without there are a few things to take your mind off your own misery.

Like this little girl of no more than three who came up to me leaning back against the chair, eyes closed and cradling my right hand to my chest.

“What you do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m waiting for my x-rays.”

“You speak funny.”

“It’s called an accent. And I’m sorry if I’m hard to understand.”

“My uncle funny-speaks. I know.”

“Ah, so you’ve had practice. That’s great!”

“He very nice. What you do?”

“I think I broke a couple fingers.”

“Why?”

“Because I was trying to hit a ball back to the opposing team.”

“Why?”

“So we would win.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate to lose.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me feel useless.”

“What useless?”

“If you don’t know what to do with it.”

“If I don’t know what to do with it I breaked my finger?”

“NO!”

Thankfully, the girl’s mother (who’d needed stitches in a hand cut in the kitchen) came and rescued me. After getting x-rayed and splinted, I went to say goodbye but they had left before me. I don’t think I’d have been up for another round of the why-game anyway.

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