I’ve now told enough people that I might as well babble about in the newsletter. I dropped a knife, a sharp knife, on my toe and had to get stitched back together. Now you know, I’m clumsy. I’m so clumsy that Dave calls me ‘schleprock’, the accident-prone guy from the Flintstones. We are a very loving couple, me & Dave.
I was making shish kebabs for a dinner with friends, everything was chopped, the knife dutifully turned blade-in towards the cutting board, and the little ones were helping assemble. I’d just finished tossing the veggies with a light coating of oil, salt, pepper & garlic… and the knife fell. I felt no pain. I just saw blood, lots & lots of blood, when I bent down to pick up the knife. I realized it was coming from my toe, I realized I could see a little bone, and I quickly squeezed my flesh back together. Completely forgetting my hands were covered in oil, salt, pepper & garlic. Then I felt pain.
Dave quickly got me wrapped up and away to the ER. Thirty minutes later, four stitches later, we were back on our way home and dinner was still ready in time for our guests! Of course, they had to help assemble their own shish kebabs, set the table and clear, but everything else went smooth as silk.
Yesterday I went back to get my stitches out, only to find I’d busted right through them. I got some stern looks and a little lecturing from the Dr. Then he glued me back together and humpty dumpty is good to go. Thank goodness. Today is round II of our breakfast burrito fundraiser and I have 40 pounds of potatoes calling my name.
On a happy note, my german neighbor (speed chopper extraordinaire) is not only coming to help, but her sister has a farm, with potatoes, and I get a special friends & family discount. I’m feeling all sorts of special over here.
Um, FYI, hospitals are no place for healthy 4-year-olds.