Since Billy put this pretty little ring on my finger, I seem to have lost the ability to not accidentally abuse my hands in any number of ways. I can’t help but think about how when I was little, the only redeeming moment of visiting the dentist’s office would be putting those plastic adjustable birthstone rings from the reward toy box on my hand after my check-up. The rest of the day would be spent shopping with Mom and admiring how gorgeous my hands were and silently bubbling over about the real hardware I would be rocking some day. ( I didn’t care if I’d have to put it there myself. Where you at Bey, Kelly, and Michelle? I depend on ME.)

Well, now I have the most beautiful piece of (real) bling on my left hand, and I can’t seem to keep the surrounding extremities intact. In the last three weeks, I have found myself in normal everyday domestic situations that have lead to blood, sweat (okay, no sweat really), and a few suppressed tears.

Scenario 1: Cutting Up Pineapple. I never liked pineapple. In fact, I always hated it. That is, until the Super Senior Year of College Taste Bud Revolution of 2010, when my senses decided to become preoccupied with every kind of food I had previously despised. Except olives. Gross. But oranges, dark chocolate, pineapple, etc., suddenly became in frequent rotation of my Crazy Intense Random Cravings Cycle. Anyway, fast forward to 10:07pm on a recent Sunday night when, while waiting for Bill to come home from work, I had to have pineapple. I, of course, decide to use the giant chopping knife I am wielding to attempt to scoop pineapple out of the rind, subsequently giving the index finger of my infamous left hand a good hack and leaving a bit of a gash big enough to nauseate myself for a good 5-10 minutes.

Scenario 2: Making My Fiance Dinner. Bill is a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Well, really he’s a “food-in-general” kind of guy, but who cares about logistics. So in an effort to make him dinner on his break after the 6 o’clock news, I have marinated chuck steak hanging out in the 400 degree oven Well, what goes better with steak than roasted red potatoes? Chop ’em up, toss ’em in olive oil, sprinkle ’em with garlic salt and Italian seasoning. Lay ’em out on a baking sheet, insert ’em in the bottom rack of the oven. Slide left pinkie knuckle the entire length of the inside of said 400 degree oven’s glass door before brain registers searing pain. Wait, that last part doesn’t sound right.

Scenario 3: Decorating the Guest Bathroom. I have a guest room! And a guest bathroom! And I’m really excited about it! And while my budget does not include brand new bathroom finery, I have an aged yet passable set of a soap dish, lotion dispenser, and tooth brush made out of broken dark red glass pieces fashioned into a mosaic pattern. Here I am, washing the last few years of storage off of the small collection. First the soap dish, then the lotion dispenser, and finally the tooth brush holder. This tooth brush holder is basically a small clear drinking glass with a mosaic base, and while it looks like the glass could easily come out of the base, this is entirely false. I give the base a twist. It doesn’t budge. I give the base an exponentially greater, uninhibited twist. I end up with a shard of glass stuck in my index finger.

Expert Tip for Navigating Domestication: Keep a steady supply of bandages handy in fashion-forward (read: small child friendly) patterns.

My bandage of choice? Curad’s My Little Ponies.

MLP 4 Life. (Modeling credit to my friend Christian, who I forcefully encouraged to don the MLP with me after his only slightly more traumatizing go-cart flipping accident.)