I have a very painful slice in the meatiest, tippy-top part of my right index finger. A slice wrought from rifling through my favorite Virgin Mary of Guadalupe plastic mesh bag that I got in Mexico.  (You can’t leave Cabo without one.) My beloved bag is fashioned with sets of now-rusting grommets which hold the double plastic handles in place; rusting metal grommets that have pulled out just enough to create a small, exceedingly dangerous little shard which subsequently ripped the crap out of my pointer finger. I shrieked several unholy words as I threw the Virgin across the room, danced a lively jig of searing pain and sucked on my bloody finger. It hurt like a mofo.

This tiny slice in my finger has completely rocked my world. At first, I ignored the heinous hacking. Leaving