"OUCH! OOOOWWWWW!!!! HELP! HELP!!" I yelp from the kitchen just after attempting to (not so smartly) catch the gigantic utility knife I was just using to slice through raw zucchini like it was butter from falling onto the floor.
"What? What happened?" I hear Brent call from the living room.
"HELP!" I yelp again while trying not to look at the blood that had spurted out from my index finger while groping for the paper towels with my left hand.
[About 10 seconds later]
"What did you do?" asks Brent from the doorway of the kitchen.
"I cut myself! I don't want stitches again!" I squeak out while trying not to feel too faint-y at the sight of the blood that rises up from the 1-inch cut right after I wipe away the blood that had just been there before that.
"Not for that!" Brent says, laughing while he goes to get some gauze and tape.
After he fixes me up, I catch my breath and eagle-eye it in case he's wrong about the stitches and it bleeds through the gauze. A few minutes go by, and I think of something.
"Hey, Brent?" I ask from the kitchen.
"What?" he calls from the couch about 10 feet away from the kitchen where he settled back in to watch TV.
"What took you so long to come in here?" I ask.
"I had to find the pause button," he replies matter-of-factly.
"WHAT?" I say coming out of the kitchen to look my dear husband in the eye.
"But they were doing a special on [Tennis star Andy] Roddick!" he says.
1 comment:
Glad you didn't need stitches. Where did you get that fear of looking at blood any way?
Post a Comment