We just recently got back from a wonderful holiday on the west coast. There were only two things wrong with the holiday.
- It didn’t last long enough. We wanted to stay for at least another year or so.
- We forgot to bring our knife sharpener and had to use insanely dull knives in various kitchens.
What happened, you ask?
Well. How do YOU spell “dumb as rocks”?
We got home a few nights ago around 9:30pm and almost immediately left the house again to go and sit in the emergency waiting room for 2 hours or so because JUST before going to airport, someone (let’s be kind and not name any names – but here’s a hint – it starts with E and rhymes with dizzlebrain) had a minor skirmish with the least dull paring knife while rushing to make lunch for the planeride – 5 year old cheddar cheese and pickled beet (home-made) sandwiches and a dish of potato salad. (Yes, thank you, lunch was delicious – airplane food has improved so much since the airlines stopped providing it!)
We knew it was bad and tightly bandaged the thumb for the flight – two bandaids and LOTS of adhesive tape (practically a whole roll) to create a hat. I thought it probably needed professional attention but didn’t really want to miss the plane. I held the thumb up for the whole flight and knew I was in trouble when we started the descent into Toronto.
When we got home, I removed the bandages to put a new one on and when I saw that gash was still gushing (and horribly askew), I knew it probably needed a stitch.
Luckily, it’s easy to ride a bike one handed and the night was beautiful. Warm but not too warm, brightly moonlit, and quiet because it was a school night. And then we sat with the dregs of society trying to stay far away from anyone wearing a mask and trying not to stare when hearing one of the many police officers signing in a bleary-eyed guy with bandaged toes in a wheelchair “Have you been drinking, Sir?” The slurred reply was not easy to make out….
My name was finally called and the doctor quickly confirmed that my thumb did indeed need sewing up. With one stitch? Ha. It required four stitches!! And one extra glue stitch right beside the nail. Quel idiot!!! (Not the doctor.)
We rode our bikes home a little after midnight and T made us pasta for an oh so fashionably late dinner (spaghettini tossed in olive oil, garlic and freshly picked Vancouver Island corn that I had stashed in my suitcase) while I alternately beat myself up and drank large glasses of wine.
I’m happy to say that the pain had abated the next morning. But I now have to do just about everything one-handed until the stitches come out. And I can’t seem to get the red out of my face.
Feel free to send comments like “Are you crazy?!!” or “Aren’t there better ways to get out of doing the dishes?”.
Hmmmm, maybe this is a gentle (cough) reminder to me to try making “no knead” bread. I wonder if it would work with a multi-grain bread. That’s what I’m really craving right now.