My boyfriend was swearing in the kitchen about how ghetto everything is. We have one pot, one pan, and stove top that may or may not work and is "off center" at best.
I'm not trusted with the actual cooking. I cooked once, forgot about the chicken, and since he's told me I tried to poison him with hockey pucks.
I AM a good cook I swear, but the hockey pucks won't seem to stop haunting me. And after today, well, I'm banned from the kitchen forever.
Back to the beginning- yelling from the kitchen, and I was banished to the table to cut carrots. Warned many times to be careful, I worked slowly.
And then a loud )(&%@FFSGLKHSGO*%*@*$%$ echoed through out the house, and blood was de-sanitizing everything in my path.
As I said, we're ghetto- we're only living here for ten weeks and we don't buy things others may call "necessities" - such as bandages. So I reach for the toilet paper. Yes, we have toilet paper in the kitchen.
I'm yelled at for using one of the few roles of toilet paper and bleeding on it, and given a paper towel. Then I spend 20 minutes watching my boyfriend cook, hearing "I JUST TOLD YOU to be careful", and being woozy on the couch, refusing to go get stitches as I bleed through the first paper towel.
No worries though, I'm not Kristyn Urgo- the cousin who slammed her finger in a car so hard it was out of commission for some time (I had to cut her food for her at Thanksgiving)- my finger is still mostly in tact.
Update: 5 days later. Took off my bandaid. Walked to CPB's bleachers. Look in my hand and wondered when my green ipod got red dots and streaks all over it.