the other night, i was reminded of my biggest fear of living alone -- being the victim of some freak (or normal) fatal accident in my own home, and nobody knowing i've perished. of course, that's just me getting all dramatic, but let me tell you what prompted this.
i was making myself some delicious chicken with artichoke and mushrooms for dinner after a long day at the cookie shoppe. i was tired and it was late, but i was thrilled for this tasty dinner. everything was going smoothly until it came to introducing the artichokes into the mix. you know how goya cans always seem like they've been sitting on your grocery shelf for at least 15 years? well, i had a goya can of artichokes with a pull tab top (like cat food). i started to open it, and it only came up a small amount before refusing to budge. i readjusted the placement of my hands, got ready to give it a big pull, and as i was thinking to myself "this is a bad idea", the top popped off in one fell swoop and lodged itself into my thumb. my immediate instinct was to fling the top across the room like a ninja star and cradle my burning thumb to my side. a second later i realized i was probably bleeding and didn't want to stain my beloved catwoman shirt, so i brought my hand out in front of me and checked out the damage.
and oh bloody blood was i bleeding. luckily i had already washed the dishes, so i could head over to the sink without getting my dna all over my plates. i shoved my thumb under running water but it just kept on bleeding -- i couldn't even tell how big the cut was. i think this is the point things probably got a little comical if you were watching the whole situation and were not me. i figured i probably needed to try and stop the bleeding so i reached up for a paper towel. my paper towel stand is set up to be easily accessible for my right hand, but not my left. so, i'm trying to rip a damn paper towel off with my left hand and not bleed all over the kitchen when i realize i have to flip my chicken so it won't burn. this will prove to be another daunting task for my left hand. it is also another comical scene because as i'm flipping, i'm trying to hold a bloody, paper towel-wrapped thumb above my heart. once the chicken is done, i turn the stove off, retrieve the can top from behind the refrigerator, glare at it and throw it away. I then go to sit down so i don't get lightheaded. at this point, i instant message cts (and real life) family member ricky, and tell him that if he doesn't hear from me in five minutes, i've fainted in a pool of my own blood.
fortunately, i was able to stop the bleeding long enough for me to throw a band-aid on (but there wasn't enough of a window for me to apply neosporin, MOM) and finish up my delicious dinner. this all happened on saturday night, and it was only today that i was able to take a look at the cut. it wasn't that large, but it was deep enough that (TMI alert!!) the wound hasn't closed yet and i can make it talk with a hilarious voice.
the moral of the story is: if you haven't heard from me in a while, assume that i am lying helpless on the floor and send assistance.