I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer…

…but somehow I seem to know how to find it and stick myself with it anyway.

Take this morning, for example. As usual, I had a difficult time getting my generic Dollar Store special Zyrtec-equivalent open. So what do I do?

Get a steak knife (technically, not from the drawer, but from the knife holder thingamabob on the kitchen counter above the drawer) to cut through it as I usually do. Then as I do sometimes, not all the time, but every few days, I end up sticking the tip into the side of my index finger in which I’m holding the pill in the wrapper.

I then noticed another cut above where I just placed this new cut, and it looks like it was a good one, even though it’s starting to heal now.

Hmmm. I’m always cutting myself. “Where did this one come from?” I think to myself, because I honestly couldn’t remember. It all was a little fuzzy.

This afternoon, my wife calls on the way back from an appointment and I ask her.

“Oh, that one? That’s from when you cut it on the can last weekend.”

Hmmm. I vaguely remember it.

Oh, that’s right. I was drinking my own version of a Jager-Bomb — Jagermeister with Dale Jr.’s energy drink of choice, Amp — and…

you know, there’s a logical explanation coming, don’t you?

Now that I look back on it, I realize that:

  1. As a Jeff Gordon fan, I shouldn’t have been getting involved with anything to do with Junior even if they are teammates.
  2. I shouldn’t have been using Amp anyway with my Jager. I should have been using the original Red Bull anyway. Then I wouldn’t have get myself in all this trouble, I’m sure. I mean, with Red Bull, how can you go wrong?

In short, I tried to unblock the piece of frozen Amp so I could get to some liquid Amp and when I did, I cut my finger on the lip. It bled profusely, and I whined like the wuss I am to my wife, who is an EMT and promptly told me to quit my whingeing and bandaged me up pronto (“thanks, hon, I lurrrvvv you,” I think I said during, or something similarly silly).

All this reminded me of how when I was a young’n, a friend and I were playing catch with rocks. I think we were imagining we were playing baseball, but whatever, he ended up tossing me a curve ball that curved right into my forehead. It also bled profusely, and I didn’t whine that time.

No, I out and out cried, because I thought I was dying with all that blood coming into my eyes. Of course, it was only a surface scratch, but I’ve still got the scar to prove it.

Of course, it would be only the first of many yet to come from similarly stupid things I would do.

8 responses to “I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer…

  1. Pingback: I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Part II « unfinished rambling(s)

  2. Oh, sure you’re not…

    XO-
    Mom

  3. unfinishedperson

    What The Wife said: It’s true, folks. What else can I say?

    What The Sister said: It’s only part of what’s wrong with me. The rest can blamed on The Sister.

    Meg: I’m so telling Brent and That Diesel Dude, who continues to ignore me.

    Margaret: Cats? That’s why they’re so mysterious and revered by the Egyptians…the skit. Now that I put that up, I don’t know if it’s good thing to say that my blog needs more cowbell.

    Always home and uncool: That’s why I don’t drink beer in any form. Cans? You see what trouble that caused me. And twist-offs that don’t twist off: if I ever meet the man (or woman) who made them, I’ll cut them…

    …with a bottle cap. That will show them.

  4. Ah, how many times has I ripped off some prime fingertip trying to twist off a pop-top beer. I should probably stick to cans. Good post, klutz. And I bow in reverence when I say that.

  5. I’ve never understood how cats never cut their tongues on tuna cans. When we were kids, after we’d emptied out a tuna can, we’d put it on the floor for the cats who had come running into the kitchen at the sound of the whirring electric can opener. Then they’d clean out the inside of the can – how did they not wind up bleeding all over the kitchen floor?

    I love your Walken picture/quote. Just yesterday, my husband was recalling the cowbell skit! What timing. I guess I was meant to come over to your blog today!

  6. I’m a beer drinker and it’s safer.

    And thanks for the tips on RSS feeds. Thank God I’m not the feminist I was in college or I would have been offended–I’m still a feminist, only now the plunging neck line kind.

    I’m so voting for you–you’re much funnier than Brent (don’t tell him I said so) and That Diesel Dude.

  7. That whole rock thing is a legend in this family. The story was told over and over by my mother and when we drove by the house where it happened she’d say: “That’s where your brother was hit in the head with a rock.”

    And one time when I was hit in the head with a rock (though I wasn’t dumb enough to be tossing it back and forth with anyone, I happened to be an innocent bystander) and it bled a lot, mom said to me: “well, that time your brother was hit in the head with the rock…it bled a lot.”

    And I always thought to myself….”That hit-in-the-head with the rock incident. That must be what’s wrong with that idiot.”

    Just kiddin’ bro’…I luuurve you!

  8. Let’s not be vague..he STUCK HIS FINGER IN THE CAN. And I asked him, “WHY did you stick your finger in the can?”

    “It was frozen and I wanted to get it out!”
    “Why didn’t you just leave it in the refrigerator and let it defrost?”
    “Because I wanted it NOW.”

    *sigh*