Anyone who knows me, knows I love a good story.
Yesterday was pretty much an accumulation of good stories.
If you follow my twitter, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason any of you even know about this blog, you would know what happened to lead up to that photo above.
Still hyped from the excitement of seeing one of my childhood idols (I mean, would YOU tell her to look into my camera?) all day and running around HER OWN HOME, I came home excited to make dinner for John and his friends. Football on, lots of drinking and friends. My favorite time to cook.
I had chicken thighs marinating in my chipotle marinade for a couple of nights and had sent out the email to my parents for the recipe for their homemade scalloped potatoes, something I grew up eating. My mom would make insanely huge batches and I just remember them getting tastier and tastier throughout the week, as the leftovers were where it’s at. From the second they were in the oven, and every 5 minutes until they were done, I would stick a spoon in and eat the creamy, bacony gravy or use my fingertips to pluck out a chunk of ham. Oniony goodness would fill the house. One of my clearest memories.
So yeah. Decided I had to make this before making it for actual Thanksgiving dinner. Was pretty excited to try out the new mandoline, something I’ve used many times before. Bought one at a grocery store so I probably just underestimated how sharp that little bitch could be. I put john in charge of potatoes as I worked on the gravy, and about 10 seconds in, he cut himself. But being the man that he is, he just ran and got a band-aid as I taunted him. Then bam. I felt the blade go through my thumb and hit the backside of my nail. There was no pain. Only shock. Then the heat set in. I ran around the kitchen doing this weird “oh fuck oh fuck” dance, something that can best be described as me kicking my legs behind me and crouching up and down repeatedly. It was then immediately decided that it was hospital time, as my little finger was shooting blood non-stop like some sort of haunted house shit.
I still have flashbacks of the moment it happened. Afterwards, John’s friend, Hassan, held my hand under running water as his trainer malcolm handed me a tequila shot (bad for bleeding, good for the spirit). I started bawling at the pain, but laughing hysterically as well. I mean I had just sliced off the side of my thumb while taunting my boyfriend for being so careless. I attempted to use the “safety” thing, but deemed it “flimsy”.
The hospital was fun. John drove as I shook my leg up and down in my seat like a crackhead. Kept trying to sneak a peek at the damage but was shrouded with a curtain of blood. The tequila shot made me giddy. Prone to bleeding ridiculous amounts, but giddy nonetheless. What! I’m being honest. Rules, schmules. I was happy.
They decided they couldn’t do stitches, as there was no skin to stitch. But they did clean John’s wound as well. Two for one deal!
If we aren’t two stupid, bloody peas in 2 bloody, stupid pods, then I dunno who is.
Scalloped potatoes recipe coming up. Couldn’t bring myself to include it in the same post. Although hey, you guys know me by now. Totally something I would do.
Be careful out there. Things happen quickly. We are luckiest when we can laugh after.