So… I’m back.
And it has been one heck of a crazy time for me. I became a dad, I lost a computer to the gremlins of hard drive decay, traveled all over the world for work, worked myself into a sleep-deprived comatose and nearly lost my thumb trying to be nice.
Funny story.
I was feeling like a loving, caring husband one morning about three months ago and decided I would make pancakes for HoBiscuit. I snuck out of bed, gathered up all the ingredients in the kitchen stealthy-like, and began getting the pancake batter ready for mixing. Then, I got my KitchenAid immersion blender from the cabinet, turned it on and tried to mix the batter.
I say “tried” because the mixer’s blade refused to spin.
This concerned me for three reasons. 1) The immersion blender was nearly brand new, used only once or twice before. 2) I could hear the motor running, but the blades were just sitting there and, 3) I really, REALLY wanted to wake HoBiscuit up and feed her my special chocolate chip pancakes made with love.
Plus, I was starving.
This is where I prove that some higher power out there really hates me and finds ruining my life amusing. You see, I wanted to check to see if there was anything wrong with the immersion blender so I made sure to not touch the power switch and turned it upside down so I could look at the blades. I saw no obstruction. Wanting to make sure there wasn’t something stuck in it, I extending my left thumb towards the blades…
And the stupid thing turned itself on.
In my defense, I hadn’t touched the power button and I hadn’t even touched the blades when it magically turned itself on. I guess that’s the only reason I still have a thumb at all. As it was, the centrifugal force of the blades suddenly turning on forced them into contact with my thumb which in turn did its part by doing a great impersonation of an exploding water balloon filled with blood. My high-pitched, girly screams of pain and terror woke HoBiscuit up and she promptly went to the bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth, changed her clothes, grabbed The Mighty Baby and helped me dial a cab to get to the hospital. And not once did she call me a moron.
At least not out loud, though her eyes were having a field day.
The hospital emergency room was a fun time, too. Filled with people with massive head injuries, drug overdoses, gunshot wounds, broken bones and whatnot. I felt like I was in a special kind of scary hell, especially since I had to wait over 8 hours before I even got to see a doctor. And it took only another 2 hours before they could actually stitch me up. All in all, I spent over 10 hours in a crappy hospital to get four (just four, dammit) stitches in my thumb and now I have a nice little “y” shaped scar to help remind me to never, EVER touch anything as dangerous as a handheld blender again unless it has been completely unplugged no matter how safe I think it might otherwise be. The good news is a lot of pretty girls want to hold my hand and look at my scar.
The bad news is I haven’t made chocolate chip pancakes since.
