Stocking Up On Chocolate Bunnies and Bandages

Easter is coming.  It's about a month and a half away, so it's a little too soon to worry about what I'm going to make for Easter dinner.  Still, I'm a little scared because I've managed to hurt myself in the kitchen on every holiday since last Easter.

Along with the ham, I had decided to make scalloped potatoes.  I was using the mandolin (with the guard) to slice the potatoes, but I was rushing to get it done.  The guard slipped and I ran my middle finger across the blade.  For a split second, I wasn't sure I had cut myself because it didn't hurt.  But then it started bleeding, and I mean BLEEDING, and it hurt like crazy.  I had cut all the way to the bone.  I could actually see it.  Really.  I grabbed a gob of paper towel and put as much pressure on it as I could.  Then I put a bandage on it (which wasn't easy, I was home alone at the time and more than a little woozy after seeing bone), slipped on a disposable glove and finished cooking dinner.  Amazing as it sounds, I only have a slight scar.

On Thanksgiving, I was basting the turkey when I bumped the edge of the oven rack with my arm.  This time it hurt immediately.  I ran the burn under cold water, which probably stopped it from getting any worse, but it still left a nice scar on my arm.

Christmas was probably the strangest injury of all because, while it happened in the kitchen, it was not cooking related.  We were all sitting around the kitchen island after dinner.  My son got up to get something, so I stood up to give him more room to get past me.  He accidentally bumped me and I fell against the stool I had been sitting on.  It came down on my foot, hard.  In trying to lift it off my foot, I lost my balance and fell against it, driving it down harder. The pain was pretty intense and I truly thought I had amputated my toe with the leg of the stool. I asked Mr. W if there was blood on my sock (I had closed my eyes because I was in so much pain).  When he said there was, I was terrified to look.  Eventually, I got up the courage to take off my sock.  Luckily, my toe was still attached.  Crushed, but attached.

So that brings us back to this coming Easter.  Maybe I should just make reservations?


Willoughby


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