… not careful. I like to say, “I’m always careful, until I’m not.” All those dropped cameras? Careful careful careful, then not careful once and it costs the big bucks.
I was slicing up some leftover steak and using my speedy knife skills, thinking I was so great. I was almost all the way done when I cut off the tip of my finger. (Actually, more like the side of the tip of my finger, but all I know is there was a lot of blood and it felt weird, and that bit of me is gone. I never got a good look at it because of all the rinsing then using half a roll of paper towels to apply pressure.)
Lloyd was a trooper. He does not do well with blood, so he hovered in the dining room making sickened sounds and alternating between shouting encouraging things and throwing band-aids at me.
I’ll be fine, but typing this post was zero fun.
Good news? The old steak was fed to the cats. The bad news? Now they have tasted human flesh.
We are not safe here anymore.