I cut my finger last night. I was chopping an onion when the knife slipped and sliced into my middle finger right beside the nail.
The nice thing about using a good, sharp knife is that you don’t really even feel it when you cut yourself. I washed my hands a few times, wiped the blood off of the cutting board, threw away the bloody piece of onion and went on about my business.
When I was done Paige put a band-aid on it for me. She’s sweet like that.
I took the band-aid off before I went to bed and everything seemed fine. This morning I went through my morning routine, all the while keeping an eye on that cut. I thought about putting another band-aid on it, but why should I? It looked like it was nearly healed at this point.
Then I reached in the closet to get a pair of pants and felt a strange throbbing sensation at the tip of my finger. I dropped the pants and saw red. The blood had already dripped down one leg of the pants and on the waist where I grabbed them. I thought about wearing another pair of pants, but I had to clean these up regardless. So, I put band-aid on my finger, cleaned the blood off my pants, and was only about 15 minutes late for work.
So if you see me today and notice blood stains on my clothes, that’s why. It has nothing to do with me going crazy because some idiot asked another stupid question. I promise…