So I started towards my second bachelor's degree this week. Culinary Arts Management. My first was Comparative Literature, with a minor in Cinema Studies. It basically qualified me to work retail.

But I like to cook. A lot. I cook every day and obsess about it. If we plan a vacation, the first thing I look up is where to eat. What restaurants are there, who's eaten there, what they serve, how good they are, who likes them, everything. When anyone I know throws parties, I'm the cook.

So I enrolled in the Art Institute of Seattle and got in, and classes started this week. I completely forgot how HARD college is, how much you have to study, how much you lose yourself in homework and mindless busywork, but... This time it's about the kitchen and the things you can make there... So it's a little less grueling.

It's a bachelor's degree, I'm in it for the long haul. If I go full time, I'm done in three years. My husband is in school studying Genomics, and he still has a few years to go. We can live at his parents' house until we're done with school, so going longer is no concern right now, the deal is we live for free as long as I cook, lol!

So the second day of actual physical kitchen time, we were working on knife skills. I'd taken notes. Copious notes. I'm not a note taker, so this is a big step for me. The more mature, actually-interested-in-studying me. Three other people had cut themselves. I'd actually taken notes on what to do when you cut yourself. I'd NEVER cut myself at home, EVER, in all my years of cooking, EVER.

So I'm working on a shallot, cut in a Fine Brunoise, a small dice on an onion, a fine mince on some garlic, and then I get to parsley. Parsley. My nemesis. And sure enough, all the sudden there's blood all over my board. I've cut myself!

Notes! I've taken NOTES! The Chef notices I've cut myself and directs me to the sink. It's not working! We find the working sink, and I start rinsing my poor left index finger. I'm calm, I'm collected, it hurts like nobody's business when the cold water hits my finger, but I'm okay! I'm okay! I'm mature, I'm an adult woman, hear me roar, all that nonsense.

The Chef comes up with my knife and asks if I want it. I look at her like she's crazy and she gestures with the knife. "Not the knife, the end of your finger."

Oh. That.

There, on the knife, is literally the shaved off chunk of my index finger and part of my nail-bed. I nod, blindly, and pick it up. "What do I do with it?"

"Put it back on and hold it in place!" She says, as if it's second nature.

So I put it back on my bleeding finger and hold it there with my right hand until the blood stops. I look up at her for guidance on what to do next, and she says "Dry your hands." I look at the paper towels and look back at her helplessly.

"You're supposed to hold the chunk of finger with the thumb of the same hand, so your other hand's free for things like paper towels."

OH. Of course. I had not taken notes on that. I took notes on things like "Don't pass out, think of the beach, lean on a wall, first aid kit on the right", and such. So I have to readjust, and of course, the piece of finger comes off and I have to press it back on, rinse and repeat.

Through all of this, I'm a trooper. I'm fine. Stone cold awesome. Holding a piece of my flesh back on? No big deal, I'm tough. I get myself dry and people start talking to me to find out what happened and BOOM, tunnel vision, I'm going to pass out.

So I go lean against the wall and think of the beach. Well, I think of my ball python eggs. Luckily my Chef noticed and pulled a chair up for me so I could sit down instead of falling over. After my wound dried, we were able to bandaid it up and slip what's apparently called a "finger-rubber" over it, so I could clean up with everyone else.

I managed to sneak under a table while moving some pans and texted my husband with "I cut off part of my finger, don't want to take bus, pick me up plz". Which resulted in many, many calls I couldn't answer until class was over. Poor husband, he panicked.

Anyway, so now I'm typing with a finger down. It hurts SO BAD, but I had so much fun making stocks that day, and next week is the mother sauces, and I'm eager to get right back in there and hack off a few more digits. I just kind of wanted to share that story with everyone here. I don't know why, exactly, but there you have it.

Is anybody else awesome in the kitchen? Did you go to school for it? Are you a natural? Were you a natural and then you decided to hone it? Do you have a recipe to share? An awesome wound story? A forum-safe college story?