Stay away, Fiskars

I consider myself a pretty brave girl. I love spiders, thrill rides, climbing up to high places, snakes and anything in the vein of skydiving, bungee jumping or flying through the air in some manner. (Ok, I have to admit those last few aren't based on any experience, but I can imagine that I would love all those things, if only given the opportunity.)

So I'm a little thrown off by a fear I've developed over the summer toward an unexpected object: scissors.

Unfortunately, I can tell you exactly when this aversion to the sharp utensils developed. Earlier this summer - back when the months ahead seemed to hold endless possibilities - I decided I wanted to sew a dress. You know, fulfill my crafty and indie potential. I played the situation over and over in my mind: someone would walk up to me, wowed by my style, and ask me where I got my new sundress. I would turn and respond casually, "Yeah, I made it. No big deal."

With this image in my mind, I headed to JoAnn Fabrics and spent an afternoon poring over the pattern books, trying innumerable combinations of styles and fabrics, until I finally settled on an olive green fabric and a vintage halter pattern. As soon as I reached home I realized what a bad choice this was, but at that point I already had the zipper, thread and various other notions so there was no turning back.

So where does my fear of scissors come into this story? Well, it was a warm June evening. I was kneeling on the floor of my house, cutting out the "Bodice Front." I turned to grab something and simultaneously stabbed the closed scissors about an inch into my knee. How I managed this graceful feat I know not. All I know is that as I watched the circle of blood seeping through my jeans quickly grow and I began to hyperventilate, my lifelong friendship with scissors came to an end.

I know it wasn't the scissors' fault, but I just don't like them anymore. Although I can now hold scissors in my hand again without my heart beating rapidly (it took a few weeks) I still get very nervous when I'm around them and avoid them if at all possible. Case in point: the extra 20 minutes I spent today at work trying to find precut labels for the inventory I was doing so I didn't have to cut the labels sitting on my desk to size. (I'm happy to report that although I was forced to team up with a red pair of 3Ms, there were no injuries.)

I have a haircut later this afternoon - I'm feeling a bit queasy.