No Laughing Matter

Okay, so I make a crack about my dead fish and eating salmon, and what happens? Today I get attacked by salmon.

Okay, not really by salmon, but by the can containing the salmon. We're talking serious bloodshed here people.

Here's the tale of why I won't make fun on my dead fish anymore.

I'm making dinner - Cheddar Salmon Quiche - if you're interested. I open up the can of salmon. Empty salmon in the bowl. I move to throw away the open can and somehow drop the can (blaming that on pregnancy clumsiness), which had the lid partially attached to it. The jagged opening of the lid lands right on my big toe.

The gash is pretty long and deep. There's blood and me not coping well with the blood. I stood there for about 30 seconds just saying, "oh no" over and over. Actually more like, "ooooohhhhh.....noooooooo". As I watch the blood pool on my newly scrubbed kitchen floor.

I stood there long enough to attract Grace from watching Barney to come over and also say "oh no". So we're both standing there saying "oh no". Where's Mr. D when I need him? He's my logic when I have none.

Well, I wanted to get the quiche in the oven since I was already running late getting dinner started, so my answer was to take a handful of napkins and wrap them around my big toe. I continue making dinner when I realized I was still dragging blood across the floor. Not good. Answer? More napkins.

I finally get the quiche in the over and sit down to properly clean up and do something with my wound. It's okay - it was only a two band-aid emergency.

So I rescrub the kitchen floor and make up a dramatic tale to explain to Mr. D the quantity of bloody napkins in the trashcan.

And the moral: don't joke about the dead fishes.