Oh, the Hick Gives Pointy Knives, Dear, and He Makes Them Floral Print

I might have accidentally let it slip, on rare occasion, that I think Hick might be trying to kill me. You recall that he gave me a birthday present of ceramic knives.* I was quite pleased with a second set of these incredibly sharp implements, because they cut through everything like butter. With the exception of that pesky cardboard circle that I cooked under my pizza...

We had that same kind of pizza again last week. I reached for my ceramic knife to cut it. Not the very newest set, they were still in the package. I used my Christmas knife. It worked great, especially without that cardboard circle. After slicing, I took my ceramic knife over to the sink, to pre-rinse the cheese off the blade. It's really hard to get pizza cheese off knife blades later! I've discovered (call me Magellan Columbus da Gama de Leon) that if I rub a little soap on the cheesy blade, and scrape it with my thumbnail, it washes a lot easier later.

I had not yet tried this pre-cleaning treatment on my ceramic knife. Last time, I'd started slicing the pizza with my giant black-handled butcher knife. By the time I switched to the ceramic knife, the cheese had cooled enough to not be sticky. So I had no inkling that rubbing my thumbnail and index finger along a ceramic blade would not be a good idea.

Ceramic knives slice fingers in the most awkward of places. I had no bandaids available in the kitchen. You'd think that's where I should keep them. I had to swaddle my dripping digit (pictures comin' up, be prepared to look away!) in a Puffs With Lotion, and go to the master bathroom to ransack the medicine cabinet. Of course we had every kind of bandaid but the one I needed, a small round or square one to soak up blood. We had the four-prong sticky-thingy kind, like for putting on a finger joint. Giant bandaids for covering skinned knees and scraped shins. And these Scooby Doos left over from when the kids were little. I really need to put bandaids on my shopping list. One of those multi-packs.

Anyhoo... here comes the actual injury.

Please pardon the cheese and yellow pepper fragments. I had not yet washed my hands, but had only daubed to stem the blood flow a couple of times.

You might say to yourself, or out loud so all around you can hear, "Val! You were in no danger of dying! Stop saying that Hick is trying to kill you!" Well. If that's the case, YOU are someone I don't want on Hick's jury after he succeeds! I only survived because I am no longer taking that demon drug Xarelto, which could have caused me to exsanguinate right there on the kitchen floor!

Anyhoo... this near-death-inducing injury (I have not checked my life line, but you can, if you're a chiromancer), was not painful. It was awkward. Do you know how hard it is to type on New Delly's keyboard while wearing Scooby Doo on the tip of your finger? It's difficult.

*Uh huh, who's proved to be prophetic with this title, now?