what the fuck, a memoir. salads are dumb, a memoir. how to get out of doing kid bath time, a memoir. sorry I can’t help cook because I’m an idiot with knives, a memoir. if I could type faster, I’d probably have more of these, a memoir.
Today’s memoir is an ode to idiotic yet extremely painful kitchen accidents. It’s also the shortest memoir of all time because even typing these sentences I simply cannot deal with the slowness. I sliced the tip of my pointer finger trying to prepare a stupid salad at a family gathering this weekend and dammit at the inconvenience. I am milking it for ALL it’s worth obviously and also it is rather painful, thus the brace to help protect it from further injury by my psychotic children. Baby J won’t stop swatting at it, which is delightful as you can imagine.
If I can get it together, we’ll have Friday cool/dumb shit, otherwise back next week I hop…
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