Giving Myself the Finger

On a recent trip to my daughter’s dance studio I was reminded that Pain Induced Sudden Onset Tourette's Syndrome can strike anyone at anytime, especially when a finger smashed in a door is involved.  I can’t guarantee you that I’m very popular at the studio to begin with.  Amidst the very well-groomed and polished mothers with their designer handbags and perfect hair, I am so very out of place.  I generally roll in to pick up and/or drop off my girls (late) wearing my uniform of tall socks (one pair of which says “badass” with an upward pointing arrow) shorts, and a tank top.  My hair is generally shoved in one direction and I’m lucky if I’ve managed to apply lip gloss.  It’s not pretty.  I don’t judge them for judging me.  If I didn’t know me, I’d judge me too.  On such a frenzied trip this past Monday and in my haste to get the Gogurt off the seat that Cate had just spilled I accidentally slammed my car door directly on the ring finger of my left hand while simultaneously trying to move towards the back passenger door of my car. 
It wasn't so much the slam of the door that sucked.  It was the ensuing PULL when I jerked my body backwards and my finger did not follow.  Through clenched teeth, I took a deep breath completely, the air forced out of my lungs in shock and about 3.7 seconds later the pain hit.  Now, I’m not familiar with the human pathways and nerves, but I can tell you that when the tip of your left ring finger is compressed in a car door it hurts like a mother fucker.  It’s not, like, child birth pain, I realize.  It’s not tattoo pain, it’s not even oven burn on the wrist pain... but it’s pain and it was not cool.  I threw my head back, bracing my left arm with my right hand and shouted, “Mother fucking, mother fuck, fucker. (pause) Shit. (longer pause) SHIT.” 
Regaining my cool, I managed to open the door with my right hand releasing my trapped appendage.  I shook it frantically leaning over, both hands between my knees.  Inspecting the finger tip showed limited damage but the nail was already lifting off the bed.  Satisfied I wasn’t going to need an amputation, I raised up to a standing position.  It was only then I looked around me and noticed about a dozen horrified mothers and their equally horrified and confused daughter’s standing open mouthed and staring at me. 
I felt the flush of blood enter my face and smiled weakly at everyone throwing up my right hand in a casual, “Yeah, sorry, I totally just said the eff word 11 times in front of your pre-pubescent daughters probably ruining them for life and probably rendering them forever terrified of the very sight of me.  My bad.”
Ah, Monday.  How I loathe thee….