Contrary to what you might think based on the title of this blog, I've been really lucky when it comes to avoiding physical injury. I've never broken a bone or had any extraneous organs removed or even been in the hospital except for the glorious day when I was born.
My husband tells me all the time what a wimp I am when it comes to pain. He's absolutely, completely, 100% correct in this assessment. The discomfort from a small bruise or cut or burn assaults my senses and makes it impossible for me to think about anything else. I just want to stay very, very still until the pain goes away.
I was hosting a baby shower this weekend (don't judge me! baby shower-haters, you know who you are). I was preparing a poopy-diaper game (don't judge me!) by melting different candy bars in diapers in the microwave. My own pride led to an injury which ranks #3 on my silliest injury inflicted list.
You see, at the last shower I went to we played this same game. I remember waiting around for at least 20 minutes while the hostesses prepared the diapers. It was an interminable amount of time to wait and I recall thinking, "WHAT ON EARTH IS TAKING SO LONG?!" Or something like that. So I was determined to show how it could be done quicker. (I wasn't really showing anyone because the shower hadn't begun, there was no one around, and none of the people from the other shower would be there anyway. ) But, I wanted to prove that I was better, smarter, faster than those other ladies.
I crammed all 10 diapers in the microwave, figuring that if I nuked them for short intervals and checked them regularly, nothing could go wrong. Two minutes. Check. Not melty at all. Two more minutes. Check. Getting there. Two more minutes should do it. Ahhh, perfect.
As I unloaded the pile of warm diapers onto the counter, I smelled burnt chocolate and plastic. Turns out, the diaper I had been checking, the one closest to the door, was significantly less done than the diapers in the middle. The middle diapers were scorched almost beyond recognition. I cursed under my breath and grabbed the final diaper. The candy bar in this last diaper (Baby Ruth, I think) had leaked through the ruined cotton and plastic and I put my thumb directly into a boiling, bubbling puddle of chocolate, caramel and nougat. My thumb blistered immediately and only constant contact with a bag of ice gave me any relief for the next 12 hours.
Serious (and silly) injury inflicted.
Number two on the list of silliest injuries inflicted happened when I was about 15. I was chatting on the phone in the kitchen and decided to switch to the phone in my bedroom. I told my friend to hold on and went sprinting upstairs. I can only imagine (based on her laughter when I was finally able to get to the other phone) what my trip must have sounded like.
"Ok. Hold on, I'm going to switch phones."
*sound of running feet*
*yelp of surprise*
*groan of pain*
As I had rounded the corner to run up the stairs, I slipped and came crashing down on the tile entryway. My elbow and hip were a little bruised, but by far the most serious injury inflicted was a huge gash on my pinkie toe where I had torn it open on the edge of the metal weatherstripping on the front door.
To add serious insult to my serious injury, I discovered the cause of my fall was not my phenomenal speed or wanton carelessness. No, I had slipped in a puddle of pee which had been kindly left by the front door by our new puppy.
Unfortunately, I don't even have a scar to prove my story is true.
Silliest injury numero uno is a testament to the evils of cleaning the oven. The easy-off oven cleaner says that I should remove as much loose debris as possible before spraying the cleaner inside to do its magic. Easy-off has underestimated the amount of flaky residue and black piles of hardened goo which have collected over the years. But I diligently try to get as much out as possible.
As I begin to pry a large blackened mass of what used to be apple pie filling from the back corner of the oven, the solid-looking outer crust gives way and my index finger plunges into the middle. The pile is not dense, as one might expect from charred food product, but is light and airy, like a meringue or cotton candy.
Very very SHARP cotton candy. Suddenly a thousand tiny shards of burnt apple pie filling are shredding my fingertip. The smallest movement on my part causes more and more shards to burrow deep into my skin. I scream in agony and fall to the floor clutching my bloody stump of a finger.
Well, not really. But my fingertip was pretty tore up and sore for at least day or so while the thousands of microscopic cuts healed.
I guess what I lack in serious injuries, I make up for in comic relief. No wonder no one ever believes me when I say, "But it huuuuuurts!" I'd be laughing too.