My leg must really hate me by now
Last night I went to Mom's house for dinner. We had the most delicious tacos on the planet.
But I accidentally dropped a plate... and since Mom uses REAL plates (unlike my conviction to stick with disposable ones), the plate shattered. And some of it hit my leg.
My bad leg. About four inches above the infamous soda-bottle wound. (Which still hasn't healed completely, by the way).
It didn't even hurt, and I didn't even notice it at first because there wasn't really a big gash, just a nick...
Then after I picked up the broken bits of plate and threw them away, I felt something dripping down my leg. I looked down and there was blood!
Mom handed me a paper towel and said "Here, wipe your DNA on this."
(See where I get my quirkiness from?)
11 comments:
You put some of that stingy spray stuff on it? Some people have a lucky leg, but I'm thinking it would be your other leg.
Marilyn: Yeah, I'm thinking the other leg is probably the lucky one. :)
Have you always been such a danger to yourself?
You may want to consider investing in a bubble.
Paper plates rock!!
WOW! I was under the impression that a bodyguard was supposed to protect you from other people. My Bad! Now I see that I must protect you from yourself!
PS. I'll be dropping off more paper plates to Mom for your personal use!
Poor poor leg. It needs a hug.
I have no words for this. Your leg adventures confound me.
You need to wrap your body in kevlar before venturing into anyone's kitchen.
Mr. Fab: Would you rather I was a danger to you?
Lynda: I wonder what bubbles cost these days...
Metalmom: You pretty much need to protect me from everybody. :)
Natalie: No! Ouch! Don't hug it!
Desert Songbird: Maybe I can get my own TV show.
Morgen: Kitchens do seem to be hazardous areas lately!!
It didn't hurt? That can't be good.
Travis: Isn't it a GOOD thing that it didn't hurt?
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