Remember when Esme tried to pierce my ear the day before BlogHer? That little punk.
I was laying on the floor, minding my own business, doing crunches to
work on my 6-pack make room for ice cream.
Out of nowhere Esme (hypnotized by my ponytail) pounced on my head and sliced my ear with her
claws that I haven’t cut in weeks razor sharp talons adamantium claws.
Thoughtsy: ESMEEEEEE! NOOOOOOO!
I immediately pinned Esme to the floor to prevent further injury.
Esme: Meow. (Translation: Uh-oh…Sorrwee.)
Thoughtsy: Hello. My name is Thoughtsy Appear. You killed my ear. Prepare to die.
Esme: Meow. (Translation: Bring it.)
Then I felt something running down my neck. I touched it, and when I pulled my hand away, it was covered in…
Thoughtsy: AHHHHHHH! Blood!
Convinced that Esme either (A) sliced my ear off, (B) pierced my ear, or (C) SLICED MY FLIPPIN” EAR OFF!, I slapped a washcloth over my ear and refused to look at until Kiefer came home.
I passed the time by shooting Esme nasty looks, then feeling bad about it and cuddling with her, crying, and asking her, “Why do you hate me?”
When Kiefer finally arrived home, apparently, my ear was still there. And fine.
Apparently, the capillaries on your face are super close together, so even the tiniest cut gushes.
Apparently, because guys shave their faces, they know face cuts bleed a lot, and it doesn’t mean you’re dying.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I haven’t seen this movie, but I’m pretty sure I need to. Planned on seeing Snow White and the Huntsman, but I can’t make myself believe that Kristen Stewart could ever ever show enough emotion to charm bluebirds, dwarves, a prince or a huntsman. Just sayin.”—SugarDishMe