I had very little planned to do on Sunday. Just a simple drive to town to pick up my 44 oz Diet Coke, and a side trip through the back alley of Farmer H's pharmacy store parking lot to Casey's, for scratchers. The whole thing would take less than 45 minutes. Even if, perchance, I found a penny to photograph and pocket.
It was shortly after noon when I left, having just stepped out of the shower, dressed, and grabbed my purse. The sun was shining, 58 degrees, a nice day for Farmer H and his Storage Unit Store. There was quite a crowd there when I drove by. I parked over by the moat at The Gas Station Chicken Store, counted up my correct change, and headed inside.
As I bellied up to the soda fountain, I saw that my thumb was bleeding. How did THAT happen? I didn't recall bumping it on anything. I sure didn't want anybody in the store to notice that I was bleeding out! That kind of thing is frowned upon. Nobody wants to see such a sight at the soda fountain, or take money at the register from a hemorrhaging hand.
There are strict rules in school about such issues, with a custodian being summoned with a bottle of bleach if even a drop of blood spills on the tile. I'm pretty sure food establishments have such rules. Even CASINOS in Oklahoma have a sharps container mounted on the wall of the restroom, to prevent folks from coming in contact with the blood of others at the ends of pointy objects.
I carefully reached into my right pocket for a tissue. Forgetting that I had just washed my jacket free of the smoke of the casinos, after removing the tissue I keep in the pocket. I hadn't needed the jacket due to the warmer temperatures, and in fact didn't even need it that day, once I got over the chill of shady garage-kept T-Hoe's leather seats. So there I was, without a tissue, and the fountain of blood now smeared across my thumbnail. Don't even suggest that I should have peeled a napkin out of the holder at the chicken counter! People don't want to see other people's blood around their chicken!
I awkwardly hid my spouting digit behind the foam cup of my 44 oz Diet Coke, and reached into my shirt pocket with my left hand, for my dollar to pay. I surreptitiously transferred my 69 cents of coins from my bloody hand to the good hand. Pretty sure I made it out of there without anyone saying "YUCK!" after I left.
The fact that I take an aspirin every night, purposefully to keep my blood thin, after my unfortunate bilateral pulmonary embolisms a few years ago, and that I had delayed taking my blood pressure meds until right before I left home... probably contributed to the outpouring of my life fluid. I swear I even SMELLED that blood while trying to hide it inside the store! Like Stephen King described it in Carrie. A coppery smell.
Oh, sure. Pooh-pooh my possible life-threatening injury! It looks GOOD, there. That's after I dabbed it five or six times with a Puffs With Lotion. And right after that, it started seeping again, on the way over to Casey's, so I had to soak up another Puffs full.
The wound finally sealed itself, on the drive home. Which lasted until I washed my dog-hands, and dislodged the tentative scab.
No, exsanguinate was NOT on my unwritten list of things to do on Sunday. Neither, apparently, was "put on lotion."