Sharp Things

By Stephanie Beck

It happens every time. My stomach starts to fall, my hands get shaky and the deep dread that sweeps over me is nearly enough to make me pull back. What is this horrible feat? Well, it actually applies to two of my dreads—needles, and…opening a new ream of paper.

Needles, logically, should be sharp. The sharper the better, I had a nurse tell me after a very bad stick with a not super sharp needle during a flu shot. She was horrified, I was horrified, gravity got very, very close to winning that day. Before I had my first daughter, needles didn’t bother me. I gave blood regularly and never had a problem. Seven years later I still get sick just thinking about a needle.

Moving on…before I get dizzy.

The paper thing comes from paper cuts. I hate them. I have this horrible picture in my head of opening a ream of paper and having the first page slice into my thumb. I’ve been sliced before—quite badly. It was enough to imprint the worst case scenario on my brain and now I simply can’t escape it. I’m very tempted to wear leather gloves the next time I open paper. Maybe even layer two pair.

The nightmare that haunts my dreams: Going to the dentist to have a cavity filled (Novocain) and while in the waiting room having the sweet old receptionist ask if I can help her with the block of paper.

Do sharp things bother you? With or without fairly logical reason?

All the best,

Stephanie Beck