It Came to Blows.

 It was bound to happen at some point. I was using a swing stapler to staple the insulation against the bottom of the roof trusses, and I was getting aggravated because apparently I lack the hand/upper body strength to get the staple all the way into the truss. When I tried to adjust the paper, staples would drop to the floor. 

I practiced with new ways to hold and swing the stapler while trying to hold the paper flat with my other hand. I swung a mighty swing and *bam*! I smote my left index finger a mighty blow, which caused a mighty oath to spring forth. There was blood running everywhere, and I did the best I could with a piece of zip tape and a strip of paper toweling. 

Forgive the bad picture...or maybe you're grateful for it. My phone is on its last legs. 

I tried to continue on, but the job was even more awkward with a zip tape wrapped finger. I gave up and went down into the basement in frustration. "I can't do it," I said. "I don't know why I can't do it, but I'm making a mess of it. I can help, but I can't manage the stapler part." 

So he came upstairs and I maneuvered him on the scaffolding as he did the stapling. I quietly cleared the work areas in preparation for moving the scaffolding. Oh the shame! I finally had a job to do, and I had proven myself incompetent. 

I heard a noise and looked up to see Tim shaking a bloody finger. 

He, too, had smote his finger a mighty blow. His and her boo-boos. Same finger. Same hand. 

I think maybe he did this to make me feel better about myself.