My first hyperbole: The Splinter

Hello all! After a weekend binge of reading and re-reading my favorite blog, Hyperbole and a Half, I decided to try and adopt Allie's style of story-telling for an every once-in-a-while post. Read this as more of a dedication, rather than a glaring style theft. Please.

I figured I'd regail you all with the story of The Splinter - the monster that ruined wood floors for me, forever:

So, back when I was 6ish, I was in one of those moods where kids do random shit and it's the most fun anyone could ever be having.

This particular day's random activity was running as fast as I could down my bedroom hallway and sliding on the hardwood floor with my socks, skidding to a halt usually just before my parents' bedroom.

Now, a normal person would be thinking, "Hey, if I keep this up I have a pretty good chance of hurting myself somehow", but keep in mind I was a child, in ultra-fun mode. My thought pattern probably looked something like this:

Everything was going fantastic, that is to say, something was occurring and I was a child and I wasn't being forced to eat green beans. Despite a half-hearted warning from my father, I continued on, sliding down that hallway like sliding down a hallway was an essential part of the reason I exist. Then it happened.

Fate befell me. My toddler-sized foot was impaled by a VERY large splinter, which almost poked out the top of my foot. Pain was replaced by complete panic and shock, and I figured this was probably a good time to say hi to my parents.

My father, someone who to this day is still ridiculously calm in most alarming situations, proceeded to try and convince me to let him take me to the hospital. Of course my child-mind had already determined that there was no way in HELL I was going to a hospital, as it was clear to me at an early age that doctors do non-fun things.

My alternate option was to allow him to take the splinter out himself. I was more comfortable with this option, but I had already sunken deep into the belief that if the splinter is removed, I was going to explode in a blast of blood and doom. I finally let him bring me to the hospital to get it removed, which actually was quite a fuss for the doctors, since the splinter had splinters of its own. It took a good 30 minutes or so of digging deep at the tendons and muscles of my child foot in order to finish the "sugery". I spent the entire time in a blind rage, squeezing my father's hand like I was trying to crush it to powder.

Finally, I was free. I was on crutches for a couple weeks due to the extreme depth of the wound, and I got laughed at a decent amount, but I did get to wear a ridiculous bear slipper to school for a while.