The pickline is out. I can get on with my life. As soon as I get the stitches out of my feet.
Not really, but it's just because I refuse to go to the emergency room at ECM on the weekend. Know what happens when, to celebrate the end of sobriety after four weeks, your husband brings home a GALLON of bourbon and sits it on the EDGE of the cutting board? And you bump the cutting board?
That baby didn't even bounce. Shattered into one million pieces and ten thousand of them stuck in my feet and legs. I rinsed everything off and there were only three notable cuts...two of which are STILL bleeding because...OH YEAH. These are the legs and feet attached to the body that has been on BLOOD THINNER twice a day for six weeks.
Pisser. And actually pretty funny. It would be a lot funnier if I weren't so damn sober.