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A little less than a happy high
At approximately 10:05 PM, Tuesday, while I was in the process of prepping veggies for a chicken stock1 in preparation for a chicken soup to be made tomorrow night, I mistook my left thumb for another round and stubby object. That the object happened to be the end of a carrot that I had been cutting with an 8" chef's knife led to a series of adventures that led me from the obvious comfort of my home to the dubious comfort of knowing I was a speedbump for the staff of a hospital emergency room two towns away.

They didn't suture me, though they did give me the option. Given that I started bleeding again on my way home, I'm wondering over the wisdom of accepting the steri-strips over surgical thread. The other treatment that was suggested involved a bizarro process that included removing the nail and placing it back on and then letting it grow back in in hopes of avoiding an unsightly ridge that could develop for having cut into my nail bed. So yeah, it's not good. The last time I cut myself this badly in the kitchen, I was cleaning a deli slicer2at at my quasi-catering job in New Haven. That was some fun, boy howdy.3

No worries, gentle reader. I'm a bit shaken is all. Barring something crazy, the worst of it is that I'm off dishwashing duty for a week and will probably end up with a scar.

1We shall leave the question of why I chose 10:00 PM as an excellent time to craft a stock for a later post.
2Wwrrrrzzzz! Yeah, SPIN!!
3No sutures then, either. That choice was based either on being less aware of my mortality or a lack of health insurance. Perhaps it was both.
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