This morning I cut my finger. It’s really a tiny cut but I saw blood and that should be enough for me not to have to do anything I don’t want to do for at least a day, right?
As Vince was taking the oven apart, he wanted me to clean some of the parts – soak them in ammonia for a minute then scrub with a brush. I said . . no, I have a cut on my finger.
Later, he asked me if I had gotten eggs yet. I said “No, would you do it? I have a cut on my finger.” Chicken poop . . cut . . no! I do have a bandaid and antibiotic ointment on it but still . . why risk getting chicken poop in a cut.
Later, he had something he needed to clean up and he said “Can you get me the little vacuum cleaner . . or maybe you can’t . . because of your cut!”
Considering I fixed breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, have dinner in the pressure cooker, a load of laundry on the line — all after the finger accident, I think he needs to be careful what he’s saying! He was joking but I know what he was thinking – he gets cuts every day and he never complains but . . he’s a man. As Addie says, “I’m fragile”.