I think most of us have had a few blood sacrifices to the shop gods. Glad to see it was no worse than it was...the thread title had me a bit nervous.
I learned about sharp edges at a young age. When I was about 5 years old, my dad asked me to go into his room and get his pocket knife off the bedside table. Apparently as I was walking back to the living room, I decided to open the knife for my dad. I got it partway open then it snapped back shut...across the backs of three fingers, which I then pulled out, cutting them worse. My dad's a stickler for sharp knives, and this one was no exception. While I don't remember opening the knife, I clearly remember the look of shock on his face when I came into the living room, cradling my cut hand in the other and dripping blood like a stuck pig. He scolded himself worse than me for the whole thing, but it became my object lesson in sharp edges.