An Onion in Holliston

  My parents, in their earlier, more communicative days, had an ongoing argument about knives, and how sharp they should be.  My mother was fearful of sharp knives, and would have preferred they not be honed to a razor edge.  My father, on the other hand, maintained that sharp knives were actually safer because dull knives were more likely to slip, and therefore cut the hand that wielded it.  As a child, I had no opinion (as expected of children in those days), and I hadn't thought about the subject until the other day.
   I was cutting an onion with a super-sharp knife when  it slipped  just slightly, but not before it sliced into my left index finger and the fingernail of the adjacent middle finger.  Just a small cut, though  quite a lot of blood to the cut finger, but no problem after a few days.  The ongoing issue is with the vertical cut to the nail of the middle finger.  It wouldn't seem that a split nail on the middle finger of the left hand would interfere with daily life, but, annoyingly, it does.  From everything from washing my hair to opening the newspaper,  the nail throbs, sensitive  to anything that involves the slightest pressure.   Where horizontal splits or bend-backs of the nails usually resolve in a few days, a vertical slit in the nail is going to require a longer time period, yet to be determined.  Meanwhile, I'd started out protecting it with a Band-Aid, but after going through a whole box, replacing one every time I get my hands wet or use lotion, I've switched to just using Scotch tape. 
     Ma, I think you were correct about those dang sharp knives.  And, Daddy, I remember those stories you used to tell about Nazi World War 11 torture methods involving the pulling out of fingernails.  I feel sorry for those poor war victims.