Thursday, May 5, 2011

Stupid limes.

My wedding featured limes. But I'm not about to talk about the decor of my wedding. Nope. This post has to do with my leftover use of all those limes. All 130 or so of them. (I think I was successful in giving away one of the vases of limes at the end of the evening.)

So, as you might know, today is Cinco de Mayo. It is NOT Mexican Independence Day though. (That is September 16, according to Anyhow, like a darling little someecard I received earlier today from the one and only Ms. Sass:

So, I decided to use my limes and my powers of the "best margarita recipe" on the google, and make margaritas. Of course, I also will need my homemade salsa and some homemade guacamole. So last night, as I started to make salsa (it's always better after it sits for a day), P.I.C.* decided to help out. He'd cut and squeeze the limes for me. So he plops down at the kitchen table as I'm standing in front of the counter taking care of my salsa business.

I can't repeat everything I heard P.I.C. say because there was a lot of cussing. You see, he had slippery fingers and frequently would drop limes in the bowl. He also was splashing lime juice everywhere. Again, not an issue. We had plenty of limes left. Well, I finish with the salsa (mmmm) and then make some dinner. He takes a break from the lime squeezing to eat dinner. We head back to the kitchen, him planning on cleaning up, me planning on taking over the lime business.

I started in. It was going really well. In fact, I was feeling downright SMUG about my skills with the lime juicing. Yeah, I dropped one in the bowl now and again, but I was a JUICIN' machine. Seriously. 'Til one errant swipe of the knife incapacitated me.

Somehow, I managed to plunge the tip of the knife very deeply into the space between my ring finger and my pinky finger on my left hand. I got up, immediately moving to the sink. 


P.I.C. hands me two paper towels. 


He hands me a clean kitchen towel at which point I sink to the floor. Dizziness begins to consume me as I realize that my pinky now has the distinct feeling of those tingles you get when your foot falls asleep. I become convinced that I have cut some sort of a tendon and my pinky will need to be amputated. 

When I finally am able to get up, I move to the living room at which point I begin to google knife wound injuries. It is only when P.I.C. notes that I am on a "BMX" website and mocks me that I begin to calm down. I text my Nurse Practitioner friend for advice. She assures me I'm probably okay, I just need to monitor it.

Sigh. I don't think P.I.C. realized it would be four days into our marriage that the "in sickness" part of the vows came into play. Just kidding. We didn't say those vows.

I am happy to report that my pinky is still attached. I do appreciate any and all medical (or amateur medical) analysis in my comments, however. And guess what? My Cinco de Mayo party is STILL ON. I can party on with a little knife wound, right?

* I am convinced that now that we are married, I need to change his nickname. Any suggestions?


  1. Ew, gross.
    I really hope it doesn't fall off.
    Now, can I have a margarita?

  2. Clearly you call him Mr. Awkward.

  3. H.I.C. Husband In Charge? (I think it's funny to call him hick)

  4. If you think you're awkward, wait until you see what we just launched: -- if you dig us, please help spread the awkward love!