This story first I guess, so it starts with me in the shower. I am about finished, but I realize that the drain is not draining as fast as it could, must be time to check for hair. Sorry I should have posted a warning about this entry, that it is kind of gross and involves practices which real ladies must deny ever happen, i.e. that our hair clogs the drain and requires us to remove said clogs. Ehh I don't feel as embarrassed as I probably should. Moving on...So yeah ready to investigate the drain situation so I take off the drain cover....meanwhile the shower is still going (don't worry environmentalists I have an extremely low-flow shower head)...hmm nothing I can see, better investigate with something longer. What do I have, ah ha! my razor. So I turn said razor around using the handle as a probing device and swirl around to dislodge the clog-causer. Then I pat myself on the back for my resourcefullness, turn off the shower and reach for the towel....but wait...what is this? I see little blood droplets on the shower floor. Must have sliced my leg while shaving..then I catch a glimpse of my finger. OH DEAR! It is gushing. Apparently my new blade was all too eager to make it's way through part of my pointer finger. Tell me something...why is it that you can't feel the cut when it is happening, but as soon as you realize it and try to stop the bleeding, it hurts like nobody's business? Razors are magic like that I guess.
So you might be wondering, 'Natalie? Why is it that Andy is never surprised and exhibits little anguish when you come to him bleeding?'. Well, dear reader, he did, at first. Andy's experience patching up my clumsy encounters with sharp objects began early on in our relationship. I remember the first one all too well. He had just gotten a new pocket knife and I was looking at it. Don't ask me what I was thinking, but I had the blade facing my hand and I closed my fingers around it while we were talking. He said 'be careful or you'll cut yourself'. Just as he said it I opened my hand and saw that I had done just that. Embarrassed by myself I closed my hand to hide it from him. But he noticed and asked 'you just cut yourself didn't you?'. No point in lying I was going to gush blood all over soon enough. So this being the first incident, a little wave of panic washed over him and he rushed all over the place getting supplies to stop the bleeding and patch me back up.
The second occurrance where I remember him panicking was after we were first married and I had just changed the blade on my razor. Now I am not that competent when it comes to shaving my legs. You might think that since I am 20-ahem- some years old and I have some fif-ahem-plus years experience (might as well start lying about my age now so it doesn't come as a shock later on) with shaving that I would be a pro. Well you are thinking wrong and if you can help it, never take a bet that involves me not cutting myself shaving...because chances are, you will lose. Just some friendly gambling advice...something I like to mix in there while I blog. hahaha. So yeah, we're married, I have a freshly changed blade and I am shaving my legs. Now you know that pesky spot right behind your knee? I call it the knee-pit. Well I get the razor up to that little spot and I pause for just a second, I think I was reaching for the shaving cream or something, not sure why I paused. But in that second of resting the blades sunk into my all-too-willing skin and wreaked havoc. I am assuming I must have jerked it just a smidge to cause the cut, but I am sticking with the story that it was merely resting in one spot and cut me. Anyway, as I am an accomplished bleeder the shower was immediately a site to be seen. Aside- don't you hate it when you cut yourself shaving and you still have tasks to perform in the shower before you are done? Maybe I am talking to myself here. Well in this case I still needed to shampoo and condition my hair. So I couldn't just get out and attend to my cut. I had to finish my work. Well water + my willingness to bleed = horror film. The shower literally looked like I killed a small animal in there. But, never the panicker, I get out, wrap a towel around me and reach for the trusty toilet paper.
Now imagine how awesome I look holding toilet paper to my knee-pit as I waddle out of the bathroom in search of Andy (i.e. my medic). I calmly tell him I cut myself, by which point the blood is dripping down my calf. His eyes bug out and he proceeds to rush me to the bed, lift my leg into the air and apply pressure. Now seriously it didn't seem like that big of a cut but apparently it was because I needed, as I apparently often do, some serious bandaging to get it all stopped.
So as you can imagine, these first few instances of me with sharp objects (plus add in there a few times chopping vegetables and finding my finger) and Andy was exposed to all he needed to react to my current and future endeavors with calm and the utter lack of surprise. I still see him cringe whenever I have a knife in my hand, save perhaps butter knives. Just the other day he was showing me a knife he bought his dad and he hovered over me like you would a child as I held it. I am sure if he could vote I would be banned from ever touching such objects, but he isn't offering up his shaving-my-legs-for-me services and I still have to make food every once in a while. Therefore I am sure my list of "times I hurt myself with a sharp object" will continue to grow.