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Sympathy Deficit

She was in the kitchen attempting to make potato salad. The security strip on the new mayo jar was giving her a hard time.

[Clang. Clatter.]

“Ouch!” She yelled, then added, “I am out here in the kitchen poking holes in myself with sharp objects.”

He sat on the couch watching the baseball game and didn’t look up. “That isn’t an activity I would recommend,” he said.

“There is blood leaking out of me,” she said.

“You’ve proven my point,” he said, still without looking up.

“Hrumph!” She grumbled, and wrapped a bit of paper towel around her thumb and went on about her work.

Later, she sat beside him on the couch and reached for her laptop. She had removed the paper towel and washed and dried her hand, noting nothing amiss; but with just a bit of typing, the cut on her thumb reopened. “Look,” she said, shoving her hand in his face, “Blood!”

He glanced at her thumb, gave her that look over the top of his glasses and said, “Get a Band-Aid.”

She looked at him in a perplexed kind of “thinking it over” sort of way and queried, “Band-Aid?”

“That is what most people do when they have a cut,” he answered.

“But –” she waved her finger for maximum blood display, “– if I cover it up with a Band-Aid, how will I get any sympathy? Not,” she said pointedly, “that I am getting much sympathy as it is.”

He smirked at her and said, “I don’t know why but there is a Band-Aid on the piano. Get it and paste it on your hand.”

She said, “I am waiting for sympathy.”

He said, “You can put the Band-Aid on so you’ll have something to do while you wait.”

Quilly is the pseudonym of Charlene L. Amsden, who lives on The Big Island in Hawaii. When she is not hanging out with Amoeba, she is likely teaching or sewing. Or she could be cooking, taking photographs, or even writing. But if she's not doing any of that, she's probably on Facebook or tinkering with her blog.


  1. Quilly, surely as both a teacher and a music lover, you’ve heard of the Sympathy in D minus?


  2. HJ — if I needed it, I’d get it.

    OC — No. Maybe you can play it for me while you’re wondering where your dinner is.

  3. You have my sympathy but not OC’s. You will find that the bandaid keeps the sting away that soap on a cut gives.

  4. It does seem that sympathy is in short supply, haha. but then he could at least play something sypathetic on his trumpet……:)

  5. Awww. Poor Quilly. POOOOOOOOOOOR Quilly. Are you okay? Are you still bleeding?? Is your finger going to fall off? Do you need stitches? Let me get you a bandaid and a chair, in case you get woozy …You’re alright now? Are you sure?? Can I have OC’s supper? Potato salad sounds yummy.

    (And for the fact that OC still needs to learn apparently, food ALWAYS tastes better when someone else makes it.)

  6. uhm… i don’t think anyone wuld get much sympathy from me if they waved a bloody finger in front of my nose *faint*
    perhaps that’s why i never chose to have kids

  7. You and my son should get together because he is the same way.

    I think I am not sympathetic because of my mother who would read a paper while smoking and not glance at me even if my arm fell off.

    Today alone my son cut himself with a scissors, hit his head on a wall and burned himself on a lamp bulb…I did help him out though because he seemed to be having one of those days.

    Thanks for checking in, Quilly!

  8. Betty — I’d already washed with the soap BEFORE the Band-Aid.

    Karen — thanks, and he knows better to encourage me.

    Nea — I did make a similar suggestion!

    Brig — he does know that. He says so all the time. I don’t know how he missed the correlation between my owie and his likelihood of getting dinner.

    Juliana — well, he gave me as much sympathy as I offer my students.

    Melli — ‘fraid so. And I am glad to have you back!

    Brian — you are such a joy.

    Dr. John — no smiley face. No sympathy. Woe is me.

    Sauerkraut — remind me not to ask you for aid.

    Lori — I seldom offer sympathy. I knew before I began my drama what kind of reaction I was likely to get. Sometimes he surprises me, but this cut was so tiny, only a drama queen would have mentioned it.

  9. I promise never to hit your thumbnail. Don’t believe I’ve ever hit my fingers with a hammer… my nose, sure, but that’s a totally different story.


  10. Unless your injury was worthy of stitches, or at least more than just a band-aid, I’d be giving no sympathy either. Sorry, Quilly.

    Maybe one day I’ll send you the photos of when I almost severed my finger.

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