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Memory Shard: Hedge‑Trimmer Chaos

 


Memory Shard: Hedge‑Trimmer Chaos 

(DIY Madonna Edition)

I was about thirteen — that preteen ND confidence where you think nothing is impossible and kitchen scissors are a legitimate design tool.

I’d made an outfit out of a jumper I’d cut up:

  • the skirt was the sleeve,

  • the top was a slice of the other sleeve, bandeau‑style,

  • I’d tied extra bits in my hair,

  • and the last sleeve became leg warmers.

Honestly, the look was way better than the kitchen‑scissor finish suggested. Well… until the Amityville Horror ending. (More Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

I was in the garden, prancing around, living my homemade Desperately Seeking Susan fantasy.

Next door, the man — older, grown‑up, definitely not someone who should’ve been noticing a kid — was trimming his hedge.

I must have said something, or just existed too brightly, because he looked up at the wrong second.

And sliced his thumb. Or maybe his finger. One of them. Partially Off.

Just like that. Hedge trimmer. Blood. Me in my "make do and mend" ( more disruption deconstruction) .

A true story. These things always happened around me — I’d show up, and reality would tilt, and someone would lose a digit.

Footnote: as a much older adult it took me years to use one of these tools and I think this thought every time.

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