Accident waiting to happen

My (very much wanted) birthday present from the next of kin is a drill and loads of....bits. I need to get some safety goggles and a clamp and then I'm going to get to work making monstrous creations that only a mother could love. Although my Mother has fairly high quality standards (and has developed some pretty amazing master textile crafter skills in later life) so that's not going to work. Anyway, when I get my head round the graphic (no naked drilling) instructions that make no actual sense to me, I will no doubt make an unintentional new hole in my finger. Flashbacks to the drunken pampered chef party where they asked for a volunteer and I demonstrated how to cut off the top of my finger. Or hammering through the electricity when I was pregnant. Making a clothes rail out of curtain pole as a student that gave daily splinters. Getting a workbench for my birthday years ago and destroying it. It's the Douglas Sinclair gene. It runs strong in me. Although the outdoor toilet made from a Granite Boulder and a black bin bag wild camping up Derry way was, I think, one of my finest moments. I even took a picture. No, not of me on the toilet, but presenting it, Debbie McGhee style.

I'm 44, how the flibbertygibbet did that happen.