Today, while eating lunch at my desk, I knitted while keeping up with the Twins on ESPN’s GameCast. For I am a dorky multi-tasker. (Also, I may have been listening to AC/DC on my iTunes. I said may have.)

As I knitted the back half of my tank top (whose front armhole shaping required such strategic pattern decreases that the part of my brain reserved for difficult mathematical equations did more work in one day than in its previous 31 years and is now not speaking to me), one of my new, moderately priced bamboo knitting needles slid a nifty splinter directly into my thumb.

Horrified, I said out loud to the offending needle, “OK, we’re DONE now.” Then I proceeded to the nearby first aid kit, procured a pair of tweezers, used my magnifying glass and dug around for 15 minutes to no avail. Now I have a sharp miniscule bump protruding from my ravaged thumb, and my eyesight features a handy dandy fuzzy spot in the middle of my vision. Apparently my pain-handling-to-nausea-ratio is slim. This bodes well for any future maternity plans.