I donít know any other way to say this, so Iím just going to say it. Iím a moron. A bonafide, legit, real-life moron. And while I know that that might be a little insulting, itís true. But since Iím talking about myself, I can say anything I want and get away with it.

Now for the record, Iím not using the word moron in the context of Websterís primary definition of the word ó that would be grossly inappropriate and totally offensive because it refers to someone affected with mild retardation.

Instead, Iím using it in terms of Websterís second definition, which is a very stupid person. See, the reason Iím calling myself names is because of the idiot move I pulled last week that nearly severed the top half of my right thumb. And while it was clearly an accident (because it obviously wasnít my intention to cut off one of my fingers), I feel like maybe it couldíve been avoided.

It happened as I was about to leave for my cousinís bridal shower. I was rushing, of course, trying to put the finishing touches on a gift for the bride; and I momentarily lost my focus. An extremely bad combination.

My cousin, who lives in Colorado and is getting married next month, had a shower here on the east coast for friends and relatives who couldnít make it out west for The Big Day. A lovely idea. And those of us invited to go were asked to pull together some words of wisdom to share with the happy couple as they dismount their single life and saddle up to get hitched. Another lovely idea.

So, as I tend to do, I threw myself into my little Words of Wisdom project with the goal of making my personal little 5-by-7 index card look special. I wanted the words to both sound and look good as they dangled from adorable little clothespins hung around the function room. The problem was, I didnít have a 5-by-7 index card handy.

But since we live in a world where poster board and X-Acto knives are readily accessible in every home, I felt like I could just whip one up no sweat. And I was right, it was no sweat. Unfortunately, it ended up being an awful lot of blood.

Fully dressed in what I thought was an adorable, bridal-shower-appropriate skirt and top, I decided to run down to our basement workt able and quickly slice myself a perfect 5x7 homemade index card. (The word to focus on here is quickly.

Needless to say, the outcome of quickly trying to score the poster board so it separated was about what youíd expect. I sliced way more of my thumb than the cardboard. (Good thing I had just put in a brand new blade.) Suffice it to say, itís a Christmas miracle that the tip of my thumb is still attached. And how my cute-as-a-button little outfit didnít get compromised is another miracle altogether. Everything else around me, though, was doused in blood. It was absolutely disgusting.

And unfortunately for me, the only way to exit our basement is to walk back upstairs and unavoidably encounter every member of my family, including my poor mother who took one look at my blood-soaked hand and nearly keeled over.

I mean, I knew it was bad, but didnít realize exactly how bad until the trauma center doctor pulled back the wad of bloody paper towel and immediately reached for a measuring tape. Thatís never a good sign.

In the end, I never even needed stitches, believe it or not. Because of where I cut myself, the doctor felt like it was unnecessary to shoot me up with nine injections of Lidocaine to sew me up. Said it would eventually heal up on its own. Although the fact that I canít feel the tip of my thumb is a little concerning but in the great scheme of things, I feel like it couldíve ended up much worse.

And thatís the thing about accidents, theyíre sudden, unplanned events that cause damage or injury. Key word being unplanned. So as much as weíre taught never to run with scissors or cut food while weíre holding it or ride a bike without a helmet, sometimes crap just happens thatís beyond our control. Somehow, regardless of how mindful or cautious we are, accidents have a way of happening in spite of our best intentions to avoid them.

I guess Iím sharing this heartwarming little story of mishaps and blood loss as a way of reminding myself, and you, that we can only control so much even though weíd all like to be in control of everything. So donít be too hard on yourself when you screw up, cause itís gonna happen even when you think youíre being careful and paying attention. Just do your best to be careful and let the rest ride.

Because itís like Dave always says, thatís why they call it an accident, babe.

Lisa Sugarman lives just north of Boston, Massachusetts. Read and discuss all her columns at itiswhatitiscolumn.wordpress.com. She is also the author of LIFE: It Is What It Is, available on Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, and at select Whole Foods Market stores.