A stitch in time

I’ve come to the understanding that I am good. I am damned good. At hurting myself on common household items. In the past two years I have had mores stitches than most teenage boys. While none of these accidents have been life threatening, I am coming to terms with the fact that I might just die from wounds sustained while opening a can of chili beans.

My most recent mishap takes the cake. I officially gone done and hurt myself on my effin ashtray. Classy…The worst part is that I wasn’t even intoxicated. Just dumb. Which I think in my case is more dangerous. I won’t go into all the details, but it involves running outside in my bare feet, right over an ashtray that I had broken earlier and was too lazy to clean up. So needless to say I deserved it.

I dripped an impressive trail of blood from the porch to the bathroom waiting for my brother, sister-in-law, and Amanda to come to my rescue. God bless them all what would I do without you guys?

They didn’t give me much sympathy in the emergency room and proceeded to shoot me full of litocaine which hurt way more than running over the ashtray. The best part was when Doc started stitching up my big toe after leaving me long enough for the shot to wear off – I felt EVERYTHING.

The time prior to this set of stitches, involved a cat, a fluffy little kitty, now who would think that a cat could be dangerous. Well, this one just about took out my eye in one mad dash and left me with 20 stitches in my face.

And it’s left me not too fond of cats. I am now also terrified of vintage glass ashtrays…

But this whole experience has left me with a greater appreciation of the fact that I have full use of my limbs. I am extremely more sympathetic for the fact that there are such things as handicapped parking and ramps and elevators.