Over the past two months, whilst cooking my gourmet meals at home, I have cut myself four times. I am such a klutz with a knife, apparently. Last night was the worst of them all.
I was in the midst of making my famous chili, when during the chopping of the chourico, I stabbed my left thumb. Bad. It is quite a slice. (For those germophobes out there, you’ll be amazed to know that the gash was so deep, it didnt start bleeding until after I got to the sink–no bloody contaminated chili, thank you very much!) I ran it under some water, put a paper towel over the cut and applied pressure, then went on my merry way, continuing to cook the chili. I sent Jeff a text asking him to pick up some band aids on his way home from practice. While my chili simmered, I sat and watched last week’s episode of Mad Men with my thumb wrapped in a bloody paper towel, arm in the air, still applying pressure. I thought my fingers were going to fall off.
I carefully removed the paper towel to survey the damage. The cut was now clotting under the flap of skin, causing the skin to discolor to a bluish hue. And it was still bleeding. I sent Jeff another text, “Forget the band aids. Better make it some gauze and tape instead.” He immediately knew what happened and replied with, “Bozo”. The cut continued to bleed for two hours or so, until Jeff got home with the first aid kit. He lovingly cleaned and disinfected the wound before applying a fresh gauze dressing.
In the middle of this brouhaha, I had laundry going, which I was now unable to grab from the dryer and fold. Among the laundry was the clean set of sheets that Jeff would now have to put on the bed. Poor Jeff, had to come home, take care of his bloody girlfriend, fold laundry, make the bed and subsequently called me a cutter for getting away with it all. I didnt almost chop my finger off on purpose, but it sure is a good excuse!
