Monday, February 28, 2011

Call me Job

I cut my finger.

I was making croutons.

You can buy bread here that's made by hand, from Utah-grown wheat. No lie. And you can buy it in the regular grocery. And it's very, very good.

So I had about half a loaf and no plans to eat it. Obvy: croutons.

[You cut them into big dice. You throw them into a plastic bag, then drizzle in olive oil, zip shut and toss around a bit. Spread them on a cookie sheet, sprinkle with kosher salt and garlic powder and bake in a hot oven (425?) for 8 or 10 minutes, shaking halfway through. Yum!)

But my serrated knife wanted to take a bite. Out of me.

And now I can point my left forefinger and know it's clad in a beautiful, thick, taupe band-aid. Joy.

It throbs.

Hence the wee dram I had.

More? Maybe.

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