So today I was being tortured at the dentist's office and before she got her meat hooks on me (literally and figuratively), I hear this song playing just as I was reclining in the masochistic chair of doom:
I mentioned this to Doctor Demento, and we all had a good laugh over it, including the hygienist. I laughed hysterically. You know the kind of laugh where your voice cracks and everyone feels uncomfortable after? Yeah. Like that.
Also today I was unfortunate enough to have a Wooden Handled Knife impale itself in my right ring finger, at the tip. It was lying in wait at the bottom of the murky Waters of Dish. Be very careful, those little somma guns will jump up and getcha. The hotter the water the better, since the hot water increase circulation in the Wooden Handled Knives' main source of nutrition... the digits.
So take my advice, wait until the dish water is luke warm before braving those dreary waters... kick your heels up and enjoy a book or something. Shoot, put the dishes off until tomorrow. That was my first instinct.
I should have listened.
The bright spot in all of this is that my 2 year old heard me yelp and came running, she asked me what happened as I held my hand up while bundling it in some paper towels.
"You got a booboo, momma?"
"Yeah, honey. I hurt myself, I cut my finger on a knife."
"Well, don't do that THEN."
"Thanks Emma, that a big help."