Sometime last week or maybe the week before I got the great idea to use my husband's deer knife to cut peaches in bed. Now normally I don't eat in bed because I have this big deal with trying to go to sleep and not being able to because of the crumbs that always end up in bed and make me scratch and feel gross and not be able to sleep, but my kids are always eating all the fruit in the house before I get a chance to try any so I thought I'd be clever and hide a bag of 50 cent per pound peaches in my underwear drawer. Oh come on, don't act like you've never done that before.
(And how's that for a run-on sentence?)
After we had put the boys down for the fifth time that night, I lifted up some bras and undies and grabbed myself a peach. Since I was all alone in bed and I didn't want to walk to the kitchen to get a kitchen knife since I'm lazy, I looked up in my husband's bed cabinet (yes, we have one of those stupid beds) and took one of his deer knives. I then sat at the end of the bed so as to avoid getting juices in the bed and proceeded to cut and eat my peach.
Then my husband came waltzing out of the shower and so I quickly dropped the knife on the covers and put my head on the pillow so he would not have a chance to realize I had just been using one of his deer knives. To cut a peach.
To seal the deal I then began trying to act hot in bed. I just knew if he wanted to play in bed then I'd be off the hook if he did discover the knife. We both started having fun and pretty soon I forgot all about that deer knife that was also still opened at the foot of the bed on top of the covers. Then, as my husband really began to get to know me, I screamed out in pain.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! Crap! What the crap! And then I started crying.
I started crying because sticking into the top of my foot was my husband's deer knife.
I think it touched my bone.
Then my dear husband started laughing at me while he carefully pulled the knife out of my foot. He then went over to the bathroom sink and washed my blood off his knife while I sat on the end of the bed wailing in pain because I had just stabbed myself. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate blood? Probably has something to do with working at Kentucky Fried Chicken for a year in high school.
I think I can safely say my plan backfired.
Once I got the nerve to look at my foot I realized it probably could use a suture or two, and if I had been one of my kids then I probably would have been on my way to the doctor, but well I felt too embarrassed to go to the doctor for me. I mean, what was I supposed to say? "Yep Doc, I stabbed my foot with a knife while making love to my husband." Because I'm sadistic like that. So we butterflied the stab wound up and over a week later my wound has healed, but the bone is still bruised.
This is why your mama said never play with your husband's deer knife in bed.