Nov 292017

The evening was going so well. Henry and I had watched about an hour of compilations of kpop groups speaking English, because we live such wild lives, and then Chooch wanted me to work on our puzzle with him.

I love this puzzle because Henry hates its existence so much, but I also dislike it because have you ever seen Chooch and me working together? It’s the opposite of harmonious.

What’s the opposite of the harmonious? Meghan Trainor thrash metal, I guess.

Also, as if it’s not hard enough bumping elbows with Chooch when lunging for those coveted edge pieces — cats.

In an effort to stall the puzzle pandemonium, I decided to grab an apple, which of course requires me to spend additional time looking for/washing/positioning the apple corer because I can’t just chomp down on a pink lady like Trump going beast-mode on a box of KFC.

I need my fucking fruit cut into pieces.

OK let’s just cut to the chase, AND I DO MEAN CUT: as I pressed the corer down onto the apple, IT FUCKING SNAPPED INTO ABOUT 48 PIECES NO NOT THE APPLE THE FUCKING CORER!

Some of the pieces sprung back onto my hands and I knew, I just knew: I HAD BEEN WOUNDED. I let the plate and the remains of the apple fall into the sink while I ran out of the kitchen, moaning loudly and holding up my damaged limb. I collapsed onto the staircase, not knowing what else to do with my broken body, and proceeded to apply pressure to my thumb while yelping, actually yelping, in pain. I was straight panicked, had no idea how bad it was, only that my right hand was on fire.

Chooch came running over to assess the situation and did his best to calm me down while Henry strode past us to survey the scene in his precious fucking kitchen. I thought he was in there looking for bandaids at first, but no, there he was: picking up pieces of corer carnage while I’m rocking back and forth on the steps, applying pressure to my thumb and screaming.

“WHY AREN’T YOU GETTING ME A BANDAID!?” I wailed. Henry walked out of the kitchen and asked, “Why, did you get hurt?”


So he sent Chooch upstairs to the bathroom to find me some lame, regular person bandages that are all beige and translucent and not pretty at all.  Henry tried to put some kind of spray stuff on it and my instinct was to kick him in the nuts, so he put his hands up and got rid of the spray before my foot could make contact.

While Henry diligently applied the bandaid to my thumb, I noticed another cut too and started screaming all over again.

“THERE IS NOTHING THERE!” Henry yelled, but there was, so he had to go and get me another bandaid. HA.

I thought I had a bunch of cuts on my left hand too but it ended up some being some apple shards.

This is all Henry’s fault. I told him weeks ago that the apple corer was cracking, but he was all, “JUST USE IT UNTIL IT BREAKS.” Well guess what motherfucker, it broke and nearly took me out with it.

While I was being bandaged by Nurse Henry, Chooch ran into the living room and yelled, “I KNOW WHAT WILL HELP” and put on a Taemin video* for me in a desperate attempt to diffuse the bomb ticking from within me because he’s the best son in the world even though today he apparently got a splinter and told me that it was way worse than my apple abrasion but he didn’t even cry, wow cool story SONNY BOY.

SIDE BAR: I watch this video a lot because I like to announce the part where Taemin is about to pop open that blazer, what.

Meanwhile, Henry was back in the kitchen. I assumed he was cleaning up all of my blood spatter and bone shards, but no – he was cutting up the apple with a knife, and then tried to serve it to me, like are you kidding? That piece of fucking fruit just assaulted me, I’m not eating that blood apple!

“You didn’t even bleed,” Henry sighed and this is a lie because I peeked at my thumb before he bandaged it and there was a literal FLAP OF SKIN hanging there and blood was definitely all around it. I’m lucky I even still have a thumb, if we’re being frank with each other here.

I spent the rest of the night wincing and sniffling every time I bumped my thumb.

Henry said I should have gone into acting.

The first thing I did when I got to work this morning was put better (read: prettier) bandaids on over top those dumb plain things.

“I feel like I should have probably gone to the hospital to get a staple,” I said after summoning up the courage to relive the previous night’s horror through words.

“I can staple it for you,” Glenn eagerly offered. Later, he made me relay the tale of terror to Amber and after she was done fake-caring, she shook her head and said, “It still blows my mind that you had a C-section.”

I agreed, but then added, “I mean…I did try to get it out of it, though.”

It might be a while until I eat another apple, if ever. I mean, I never had another kid after that C-section, so.

(Ed.Note: I told Henry I had to finish writing this blog post and he got all incredulous. “How do you even have that much to write about it? IT WASN’T THAT BAD.” Oh my god.)

Say it don't spray it.

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