Week 6

What transpired last night trumps the previous seven days in such a magnificent way that it wiped my slate clean. Unfortunately I believe my slate had some entertaining things inscribed upon it, but the raw torn flesh of Stephanie's finger white washed it away.
Let's step back from the dramatic. We were invited to a nice party at a very European bar over looking a very Caribbean ocean. The party started at ten which  was about two hours past our bedtime for the entire previous week, both of us had been up or restless for the last seventeen hours. Steph wanted to leave around eleven-thirty and I was, as always, still interested in being embroiled in one-upsman-ship, pointless, flirtatious, poignant, political and such conversations that revolve around a party. She departed and I found myself at the only table where ladies were sitting, it honestly was the only chair open in the entire bar. After striking up a conversation with the the only blond, blue eyed, Israelie I have ever met Steph showed back up. My first thoughts were "Great, why couldn't my open chair have been found next to Ari, Devir, Ronen, Uvlav, another Ronen, Sagi, or Pedro?" I quickly saw in the washed out expression on Steph's face and knew something was amiss.
On her initial departure from the party Steph found herself staring at our front gate of our apartment with no keys to receive entry. Her immediate decision was to climb the fence. Honestly this is a problem that has plagued our household for years now. The two of us leave our domicile as one and return as two. The both of us have been trespassing, breaking and entering in our own homes, more times than we can add on our digits combined. Unfortunately Steph didn't make it through this challenge unharmed. I still don't have the full account of what transpired between her and that gate but it is obvious the gate won in their dispute, and one of her digits was mauled.
After a very attentive and concerned taxi driver made her get in his cab as to abscond me to make flight to the nearest urgent care, Steph was the recipient of two new stitches.
I think the doctor was younger than I by four years, and his vibrating hands made me sit down to collect my wit out of the ethereal fog that came crashing down around me. I believe it was the same fog that I watched said doctor inject directly in to Steph's flayed finger  multiple times. It looked like a chef trying to inject brine into a raw, torn chicken thigh so it would not dry out during roasting.

Today she is on the mend, I think she will be fine in a weeks time. There is going to be a gnarly scar but it will just add to our story of how we up and moved to Mexico.
Oh yeah one of the details that wasn't completely erased from my brain. On the way home I saw an entire trunk full of assorted Mexican wrestling masks being unloaded. Literally a car trunk full, there must have been at least five hundred Mexican wrestlers staring at me.