“I got my little finger caught in a vacuum cleaner when I was eight. It popped off just like that.” “Where is it now?” “Where is what now?” “Your little finger.” “I forget,” she said, laughing. “You know, you’re the first person to ever ask that.” “Does it bother you to be missing your little finger?” “It does when I’m wearing gloves.” “Any other times?” She shook her head. “I’d be lying if I said never. But it’s no worse than girls who worry about fat necks or hairy legs.”
