Tales from the Kitchen
CHEESE GRATER vs MY THUMB
EPIC BATTLE OF THE CENTURY
It was a day like any other, a meal like any other, a day no one would suspect an age of innocense to come to an end. Everything was in place; the fresh loaf of pepper jack cheese, the newly purchased ham, the ever-ready tortillas... Just like any other meal. Lulled into a false sense of security from years of experience and ritual with quesadillas, I set out to prepare my lunch, completely unaware of the terrible event about to unfold. Hungry and determined, I set out on my task and grabbed the grater. It wasn't a conventional grater, one that required it to snap into place and form a tower. It was this step where the unexpected horror took place.
A slip, a fumble, an accident, a complicated series of events driven by the vast and carefully veiled conspiracy led by all kitchen appliances and space alien politicians against me. Call it what you will, but looking back on it, I can't say exactly what happened in that nanosecond between lunch and bloodshed. All I knew was that suddenly, my world was filled with pain. Well, surprisingly less pain than I would have considered such an injury to bring, but for the sake of drama, a world of pain.
My first instinct was to drop the offending grater and grab my maimed thumb, the damnable terrorist metal producing a rather sinister clang as it hit the counter, as if laughing at its attempt of assassination. But I had no time to pay it any mind, for in cradling my wound, I realized that it was much more terrible than I had first assessed. Nails aren't supposed to bend that way.
Clenching my teeth and channeling the divine power of Clint Eastwood, I snapped the wayward nail back into place. With that matter out of the way, I became aware of the unordinarily large quantity of blood springing enthusiastically from the point of injury, so much so that even holding it under running water did not clear it away fast enough for me to properly examine it. Shaking away the blood turned out to be a very messy idea and left my bathroom splattered red. So, abandoning the idea of clots forming any time soon, I wrapped it with cotton secured tightly with three bandaids and set out to finish the battle.
The quesadilla was less than excellent, but so very satisfying.