This morning, it was all business as usual. The dogs were starving and on the verge of death, and I was taking approximately 700 years (that's 4900 years in dog time) to prep their breakfasts.
Since Lil' Frank is skeletal and bald, I put a little fish oil on his food every morning. This means that every few days, I stab a fish oil capsule so I can pinch a few drops out onto his food. He only weighs 5 pounds, so he can't have a lot of the oil. And so I pinch out a few drops every day until the capsule is empty, and then we wash and repeat.
This morning, I stabbed a new capsule. Except instead of fish oil, blood came gushing out. Because I didn't stab the capsule - I stabbed the side of my finger.
At first, I was all, "Wow! That's really a cascade of bodily fluid!" And then when it didn't magically stop bleeding when I did my 1 and only first aid move of holding it under running water? Well, then shit started to get real.
I wrapped my finger in a paper towel. The dogs were still crying for their food. The paper towel turned red. The dogs started crying in slow motion. I very slowly got a fresh paper towel and somehow wobbled to the kitchen table, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer on the way.
Now, I didn't know what I was going to do with the ice pack, but I thought it would be helpful. I ended up seated at the table, ice pack on my chest, wrapped finger held above my head. The room spun and I wondered how in the name of Florence Nightingale and Steve Jobs I was going to get my phone, which was upstairs. I needed my phone to call my husband to come home and take me to the friggin' ER because I stabbed myself with a steak knife at friggin' 8:15 in the morning and was clearly suffering massive blood loss.
I hoped I wouldn't bleed out before he got home.
I sweated profusely and noticed that the dogs stopped whining. Their silence was a very "oh, shiiiiiiit - she's the only one with thumbs!" kind of silence.
Time was long dog time. My eyes didn't work. The ice pack was my BFF.
But then? Then I realized that I had kind of stopped hemorrhaging.
And like a Christmas miracle, I could suddenly see again.
After a few minutes, I pieced together that I had basically passed out from seeing my own blood. And my pajamas were soaked, because evidently you sweat when you pass out? Or at least klassy ladies who stab themselves with steak knives at 8:15 a.m. do?
Finally, I got up to survey the damage. I wasn't insane - there was blood in the sink and in the dog food dishes. It was so bright! So red! So dangerous!
So, I cleaned up the crime scene and fed the dogs - with no fish oil. Then, I trekked upstairs to secure a bandage and my phone, which is now Velcroed to my body at all times. And by "Velcroed," I mean "shoved in my bra," because, again, there are certain things that klassy ladies do.
My first order of business with said phone? I ordered some liquid fish oil. In a bottle. That doesn't require the use of any sharp objects.
Up next: How could the day get any better? How about pissing off the federal government!