To my thumb. It is a pulsating, injured digit. As a result of wine. Not in a deeply dramatic way. I didn't pitch a snifter at someone and stab myself with a passionate shard. Nope. I somehow managed to place my ape thumb in exactly the worst spot possible on my ballerina-style corkscrew. When I pushed the arms down to extirpate the cork, my thumbskin got all squished in the gears.
Great.
I've told you I make my living pounding a keyboard, right? So, work should be AWESOME tomorrow.
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