Egg beaters?

No, potato-beaters in this case.

I have a son. Actually, I have four. One of them in particular was racing through the house last night and was upended by a door jam that leapt from the shadows. That son.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, he and a fair lass were cooking dinner in our kitchen. To make myself unobtrusive, I remained in the office pecking away on the computer. Then I heard the moans. "Aanngghh. Oooooh. Owww!! Aaagggghhh!!!!" They weren't wails of utter agony (there was a lady present, don't you know), but you could tell the man was in a serious way and didn't quite want to let on. I had to go and see.

On rounding the corner I witnessed his fingers wedged to the third knuckle within the beaters. You see, this was his first attempt at mashed potatoes. A craftsman always checks his tools. A wise craftsman does not stick his finger in them to slow them down.

Content that the beaters were working, specified son released the power button during his test run. Not satisfied with their deceleration, he decided to provide a bit of an assist...with his fingers. GGRRRRNNNCCCHH! Understand that most kitchen beaters have an anti-rotation lock on them so that when the power is off, the beaters will not turn. As hard as he pulled, the beaters would not release my son. The mixer just crunched the fingers harder.

I almost called the ambulance. No, not for him, silly! You see, his kid brother was rolling and laughing on the floor so hard I thought surely a seizure was imminent. The lass who was cooking with my entrapped son leaned against the refrigerator, covered her mouth, and discretely giggled.

Let's try and slide them out away from the machine. That locking mechanism on the beaters that my son wisely ops checked to ensure the beaters would remain in place now came back to haunt him. The beaters would not come out. Now where was that rascally release switch? Ah. Sweet relief.

No blood, good potatoes, and a good laugh. What more could a father ask for?

(Told with permission from the chef)