While I sit here awaiting the arrival of my PUPPY, there's a brief update on Genius.
Aside from my weekly letter, and an occasional text, we don't communicate a lot. Genius is busy working on driverless trucks, and I am busy doing pretty much nothing. Genius called to wish me a happy birthday, and we caught up on things not in my letters.
"The Pony came out for the Super Bowl. We made a batch of Chex Mix, and had a variety of snacks. We had potato skins, and nobody burned their hand on the oven coil!" [In reference to Genius branding himself with the upper coil many Super Bowls ago.]
"We hosted our first big party at our new house. We had 25 people over for the Super Bowl. We have a big projection TV downstairs, and a regular TV upstairs. I was in the kitchen getting the last-minute things done for the food. I made hot wing dip, and everybody brought stuff. I know you won't want to hear this, but I was slicing some focaccia bread, down to the last heel. The knife slipped and sliced through the second knuckle on my left index finger.
"NOOO! That's terrible! You're right. I don't like to hear that!"
I knew it was pretty bad. But I stayed calm. I put pressure on it, and turned to rinse it. Someone was standing in front of the sink, and I said, 'Could you move over for a minute? I need to get to the sink.' I ran water on it, and called Friend to come get the bloody heel and wipe up blood from the floor. Then I went upstairs to the bathroom to get it cleaned up. I was pretty sure I needed stitches, but with the pressure, the bleeding slowed. I got it bandaged, and went back to enjoy the party. I still don't want to bend it yet, and it interferes with my writing."
Let the record show that Genius is left-handed. Why he was slicing bread with the knife in his right hand, I'll never know. I hate to think about his injury, even now. It's like I can feel the knife sliding through the skin!
It today's letter, I told Genius that The Universe is sending a message. That maybe he should lay off the Super Bowl snacks, and confine himself to mixing the drinks. Somebody else can deal with the food. Or he can order out. A burn and a cut might just be the beginning. He doesn't need a broken bone or a concussion!
No comments:
Post a Comment