Pushing Thirtyy

Me vs. the Butter Knife

Accidents happen. All kinds of accidents.  And I’m not talking about car accidents.  I’m talking about people doing the mundane tasks of their lives and slipping up just one time.  Accidents are not reserved for children or risk-takers — we can all break bones and we can all bleed.

Up until this past week, I had gotten stitches four times in my life, three times in which I was under the age of 5, and were the typical clumsy accidents like banging my head into a cubby or falling off my bike.  The fourth time, I was 11 years old and away at sleep-away camp for the first time.  I was racing one of my friends down a hill and we both fell at the end.  It was fun and we were laughing it up until somebody told me my knee was bleeding.  I must have fallen on glass and didn’t even notice it.  The blood definitely freaked me up as I hobbled a half a mile down the road to the infirmary where I was taken to the hospital to be put back together.  I spent the next six weeks in an air cast so that I wouldn’t bend my knee and break the stitches.

Little did I know all these years later I would add a fifth time to my list.  I was in the kitchen at work getting my 11:30 snack, an avocado.  While talking to a colleague I attempted to stab the pit with a butter knife so I could twist it out, like I had done a thousand times before.  My office doesn’t keep sharper knives, which are much more useful when trying to get into that pit.  The butter knife ended up slipping passed the pit and right into my middle finger, really deep.

A butter knife.  A freakin’ butter knife.

The shock of the incident and the sudden loss of blood made me woozy, so I sat down, but I really needed to lie down.  My colleagues tried to help me get to the President’s office so I could lie down on the couch, but I didn’t make it far.  A few steps out of the kitchen, I fainted and smashed my face on the floor, nearly biting through my lip.

You cannot make this stuff up.

By now, I am surrounded by colleagues who hoist me up in a chair, give me ice, and proceed to roll me across the office to the couch, passing by the conference room where my boss and the other executives were having a meeting.  We waved them off, saying “she’s ok,” when clearly I wasn’t.  It must have been pretty hilarious to see!

I finally end up going to the hospital and getting sewn up, and return to work a couple hours later.

Best story ever, right?

But this is not the first time I’ve done something insanely stupid as an adult.  There was that time that I gave myself my first black eye by tripping over something in a bar and landing on my face.  But at least I was a few too many drinks deep at that point!  Or the time that I slipped on black ice and landed only on the back of my head, causing a minor concussion.  But that was black ice!  And I won’t even get into the dog bite story because that was just about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No, no.  This time, I had no excuse.  They say butter knives can’t hurt you.  I call bluff.  Anything can hurt you if the moment is right.  And it doesn’t matter how old you are.  You can always make stupid mistakes.

At least now, I am old enough to laugh about it.