At the wooden ballet barre yesterday, I got a splinter. I winced as it went in. But I’m no wimp. I finished the class, rushed to appointments and soldiered on. The splinter was deep. I tried to ignore it. This morning, there was pus oozing out of the wound, and it was one of those moments when I bemoaned living alone. I’m not good with small tools, and I dreaded digging around the now inflamed skin. Repeatedly during the day, I soaked the finger in hot water, hoping to at least stave off further infection. At 3pm, enough was enough. I sterilized a tweezer, poked around and lifted the wood piece out. My finger’s on the mend, my toilets are fixed [1], and I’m feeling accomplished.