Slivers

It must be officially garden season. Well, technically, garden clean up season. And I got my first official sliver.

Slivers are tricky little pains in the patoot. Or the finger, or hand, or wherever. You wouldn't think a sliver could irritate so much. You wouldn't think a tiny thing like that would even puncture the skin.

Slivers are like women, they nag us until we do something. Slivers are like men, they get under our skin until we want to take a knife and gouge it out. Slivers are like teenagers, the operate by stealth mode and drive us crazy. Slivers at like bad neighbors, they just won't go away.

That little tiny sliver gets our attention and we are required to respond. Sometimes we act immediately, sometimes we pretend it isn't there, sometimes we let it fester. Nothing worse than a sliver from an old brittle rose thorn, if you ask me. Life offers us slivers in many ways, shapes and forms. Funny how a little thing like a sliver will motivate us.

We really are fast learners, well, sometimes. Unless, of course, we never learn to work in the garden with gloves on. That might spare me a sliver or two. I have enough trouble with pruners, sheers, trowels, shovels and old achy knees. Now I'm supposed to remember garden gloves too?? It was a small price to pay for time in the garden today. I wonder if AFLAC has a sliver benefit - I'd better check my policy.