March 6, 2007
extractions
Last night, despite my repeated warnings of “Don’t go in the kitchen in your bare feet! There may still be shards of glass on the floor!” Wade decided to throw his slippers in the trash and go barefoot. In his defense, the slippers were over ten years old and were DISGUSTING. He had kept them this long because it’s really hard to find fleece house shoes in a size fifteen. I know; I’ve tried.
So after dinner, while we were bathing the kids, Wade announced, “I’m throwing my slippers out! It’s time!” and he tossed them in the trash.
Not fifteen minutes later he was walking through the kitchen and stepped on a piece of glass. OF COURSE.
I’m awesome in situations like this; I immediately jumped in to help by saying, “DID YOU NOT LISTEN WHEN I SAID DON’T GO BAREFOOT IN THE KITCHEN? BECAUSE I THINK THERE IS STILL GLASS ON THE FLOOR?” Instead of telling me where to go in front of Henry, Wade chose to roll his eyes and say, “You’re going to have to help me here. I don’t think I can get the glass out myself.”
Oh good.
This is probably a good place to mention that by the time Wade stepped on the glass I’d had one a couple several glasses of wine, because we were celebrating the fact that the bank has agreed to loan us three times our annual household income to finance our as-yet-undiscovered new house. I figured I could either drink or spend the evening breathing into a paper bag. Drinking seemed like more fun.
So Wade contorts himself around with his foot on a chair so that he and I can BOTH see the bottom of his foot (which is not a pretty sight, let me tell you; man needs a pedicure). Of course, HE can’t really SEE the bottom of his foot because it’s the BOTTOM OF HIS FOOT, and I can’t really see the bottom of his foot because he’s sitting at some weird angle. I start poking at his foot with the tweezers but my aim isn’t all that good and I realize that I am actually PUSHING the little bit of glass further INTO his foot. So I say, “Okay! I need a needle!” and I go off to find a needle.
By now I’m starting to wonder what we will do if I can’t get the glass out of his foot, or if I have managed to push it all the way INTO his foot (which is entirely possible) and how we will get to the ER and how he will explain that he drove HIMSELF to the ER after his drunk wife pushed the shard of glass into his unpedicured foot.
In the end, we got the glass out fairly easily; Wade put his foot up so that I could really see what I was doing and held the flashlight so the light reflected off the wee little bit of glass, and I flipped it right out with the needle. And then he stood up from the chair and just about stepped on the same damn bit of glass AGAIN, while I was yelling “DON’T STEP THERE! THAT’S WHERE THE GLASS IS!”
Sheesh.
This morning, Wade said, “Did you see that cut on Charlie’s hand?”
“Nope,” I said. “Why?”
“Because I think he has a huge splinter in there.” OF COURSE!
I sterilized the needle and the tweezers, and Henry offered to bring me the flashlight and his magnifying glass, and I was all poised to start digging around in Charlie’s fat little hand when he jerked away and impaled himself on the needle. There was much wailing (Charlie) and gnashing of teeth (me). And THEN I took the big splinter out of his palm, and the OTHER wee tiny splinter our of his finger. All before breakfast. When I went to put the tweezers up, Wade asked how the splinter removal went, and I said, “Well, it’s a lot easier when I’ve not been drinking.”
And he said, “Go figure.”
Posted by Susan @ 1:34 pm • Uncategorized
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March 6th, 2007 at 10:08 pm, Rocks In My Dryer Says:
OH this post had me squirming. And laughing.
March 6th, 2007 at 10:49 pm, Annika Says:
Wait, are you telling me that DRINKING might IMPAIR your abilities? That’s a pretty radical statement, don’t you think?
March 6th, 2007 at 11:41 pm, Karyn Says:
Susan, I am so, so sorry.
But I can’t stop snickering at that.
Seriously though. So sorry.
March 7th, 2007 at 12:46 am, Joel S Says:
hah, worst splinter I ever had was actually a whisker. Apparently trimming my beard makes them all razor bloody sharp. I have a beard, so of course I stroke it. That’s what they’re for. Long story short, one whisker got wedged into my skin.
But you can’t just push them out ‘cus they’re bendy, like hair. 45 minutes later…
Congrats on the loan! Hurray!
March 7th, 2007 at 6:12 am, daysgoby Says:
Congratulations on both sucessfully completing drunk surgery and funding your (sneakily hiding) dream home!
And I’m assuming (although you didn’t say) that you were SITTING on Charlie at the morning-after procedure? That’s the only way I can get splinters out of anyone here (including the husband!)
March 7th, 2007 at 6:57 am, chris Says:
And here I always did a few shots before splinter removal to dull the sound of their screams.
March 7th, 2007 at 8:20 am, WriterGrrl Says:
We had a recent glass and splinter adventure, and we learned that if you soak the affected appendage in water for a while, the glass/wood will pretty much pop out.
March 7th, 2007 at 8:44 am, MaryP Says:
“…and how he will explain that he drove HIMSELF to the ER after his drunk wife pushed the shard of glass into his unpedicured foot.”
Help! Laughing too hard. Can’t breathe. Hoo…
March 7th, 2007 at 9:44 am, Jack's Raging Mommy Says:
The other night I thought I’d simply scratched my foot, until I stood up and saw the huge pool of blood on the carpet where my foot had been resting.
Never did find out what it was.
March 7th, 2007 at 10:25 am, wordgirl Says:
Don’t think of it as drinking. Think of it as toasting the wonderful life of the late Ernest Gallo who died yesterday. You were hosting a “wake” for him. Me, too.
March 8th, 2007 at 10:17 am, Velma Says:
One of my sisters had a similar experience years ago, only it was ticks and margaritas instead of splinters and wine.
Even better? The tick was in her husband’s groin! (I’m cracking up even remembering them tell this story!)