(no subject)
Here is a run down of my first moments of August:
12:15 pm. I was laying in bed reading Peter Mayle for a chuckle, when it occrred to me that the cuticle on my baby toe of my left foot was rough from the blister I had gotten from wearing my Cons when I moved. So I, being a lady of merit, pulled out my manicure kit from my nightstand (nestled near the Trojan Magnums, I might add) and went in serach of my cuticle trimmer. I went to pull it out, and the damn thing was stuck, so I, smart like I am, college educated and whatnot, decided that if I can't pull it out, I will push it out. Which I proceeded to do with my right hand, and I got it free. Free into the flesh of the pointer finger on my left hand. I looked at it for a second, seeping with blood, thinking "oh god, oh god, oh god" when I decided it might be a good idea to wake Amanda. A conversation that went like this:
P: *knock knock* Amanda?
A: yeah?
P: I um... sliced my finger open. Will you tell me if I need stitches?
A: *opens door* let me see
at this point I am bleeding everywhere and we decide it may be prudent to go to the ER, so we calmly gather everything we need and go to the emergency room.
I am giddy from the ridiculousness and possibly the loss of blood and I'm good to go until of course they have to give me a shot and I almost pass out.
3 stitches later, I walk out of the ER in my sequined short shorts from Aeropostale, hot pink tank top and checkered Vans with nothing more to prove my adventure than a bandaid on my finger. And it doesn't even have snoopy on it.
12:15 pm. I was laying in bed reading Peter Mayle for a chuckle, when it occrred to me that the cuticle on my baby toe of my left foot was rough from the blister I had gotten from wearing my Cons when I moved. So I, being a lady of merit, pulled out my manicure kit from my nightstand (nestled near the Trojan Magnums, I might add) and went in serach of my cuticle trimmer. I went to pull it out, and the damn thing was stuck, so I, smart like I am, college educated and whatnot, decided that if I can't pull it out, I will push it out. Which I proceeded to do with my right hand, and I got it free. Free into the flesh of the pointer finger on my left hand. I looked at it for a second, seeping with blood, thinking "oh god, oh god, oh god" when I decided it might be a good idea to wake Amanda. A conversation that went like this:
P: *knock knock* Amanda?
A: yeah?
P: I um... sliced my finger open. Will you tell me if I need stitches?
A: *opens door* let me see
at this point I am bleeding everywhere and we decide it may be prudent to go to the ER, so we calmly gather everything we need and go to the emergency room.
I am giddy from the ridiculousness and possibly the loss of blood and I'm good to go until of course they have to give me a shot and I almost pass out.
3 stitches later, I walk out of the ER in my sequined short shorts from Aeropostale, hot pink tank top and checkered Vans with nothing more to prove my adventure than a bandaid on my finger. And it doesn't even have snoopy on it.