Cooking Can Kill You


Last night I did something that I haven’t done in a long time. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong—I still have not shaved my legs. I’m saving them for the right guy.

No, last night was the first time in months that I actually cooked. Or attempted to. Normally I microwave, because when I cook, I end up with a 2nd degree burn or eight stitches, but last night I was feeling…motivated? No…more like…hungry, so I thought I’d give the old cooking a try. Btw: for the purposes of my life, chopping stuff to add to a pre-made packaged salad full of other stuff is considered cooking.

As I was chopping the tomatoes, the knife slipped out of my hand and landed point down on my big toe. There was blood everywhere. And that is no exaggeration, because before I realized my toe was bleeding, I had walked through my entire apartment about three times. I didn’t think that the knife had done any damage, because my knives are ancient and dull. But this dull knife did enough damage to cut my toe and make me bleed for hours. Each time I would get the bleeding stopped, I’d stand up to continue cooking, or to pack for my trip today, or to check something on my computer, and each time I stood up and took a step, my toe would start to bleed again. Even this morning after my shower, my toe was bleeding.

Right now I’m sitting on the plane with my toe wrapped up tight in a Barbie band-aid. I hope it’s finally quit bleeding, because I’m wearing these fabulous boots that I bought at Nordstrom for 30% off, and if the blood ruins them I am not going to be pleased.

So, what have I learned in the past 12 hours? 1. I need new knives; 2. I need to get my carpet cleaned; 3. These boots are perfect for travel, because they’re keeping my legs warm in this freezing airplane; and 4. Cooking can kill you.

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