like butter

It's after noon, time to crack open a beer and get to work measuring, sawing, sanding, screwing. Heh. The building is going slowly. Sometimes days go by without me in the yard covering myself with sweat, sawdust, and blood. But not today. Nearly finished with my upholstered bottom bunk bed crib conversion I let slide a screw that I'm driving, and Wham the phillips bit goes right through my thumbnail as if it had no more substance than butter left out on the counter. The blood comes quickly and starts squirting out of the hole I've drilled into my finger. The nail is cracked like a shattered window and little spiderwebs ooze red. Wonderful.
"Shit, fuck," I look around for sympathy, or at least someone to be impressed by this new way I've come up with to injure myself. Bones lays his ears back guiltily and thumps his tail twice into the thick dusty ground. Sheepish that one. "It's a lot of blood," I say loudly as though that will get me some more recognition. Giving up I go into the house to at least show River the battle wound. Oh well, at least it's an excuse to drink another beer.