A left hander I am not

It's funny the things you think during and following a self-inflicted injury. Like today for example. Today I was doing some wiring for an undershelf light on a cabinet and I needed to cut some insulation off of a three wire cord. So, I whipped out my trusty pocket knife and went to it. Well, we all know what happens next. I underestimate the sharpness of my knife and it slices right through the insulation with no problem, passes swiftly in front of my chest and buries itself in my left index finger. "Ouch," you might say, but it was rather quick and painless (and as you can see was not so serious as to affect my ability to use all ten fingers to type this entry). Probably a solid 1/8" puncture wound about 3/8" long.

Anyway, the first thing that went through my head was, "You idiot!" But oddly enough, the second thing was this. I thought to myself, "If you ever manage to convince a girl to mutually agree to marry you and she wants one of those posed photos of the two hands with the rings on, you're going to have to find someone really good at covering up scars." That's the bummer about being right-handed in my field. I'm always holding something in my left and slicing, nailing, hammering, etc with my right. When I miss with a hammer, my left hand softens it landing. When my nail gun misfires a nail, my left hand is there to catch it. When I slip with my knife, my left hand keeps it from hitting something (like metal or a table top) and dulling the blade.

Of course, then the adrenaline kicked in and I let it bleed out, cleaned it, disinfected it, and put a bandage over it.