My husband just stuck himself in the leg with a knife.
He called me on the way to the emergency room.
What do I say?
Are you ok? Yes.
What knife? My new one.
Oh good... it is clean and sharp. Well, no, I used it to cut a deer head apart.
So you're going to die of blood poisoning.... gram positive bacteria. Maybe.
Did it wreck your pants? Yes.
Did you whack your hmm-hmmm? No, I didn't whack my hmm-hmmm but I'm not wearing any underwear so somebody is going to see my hmm-hmmm. (I can hear Dave howling with laughter in the background.)
Do you want me to go home and get you some panties and meet you there? No.
Do you want to stop at Target and make Dave go in and buy you some undies? No.
Don't forget to file worker's comp. Right-o.
How far in did it stick? About 1/2 an inch or so.
Are you going to do that again? No.
Are you going to cut towards yourself anymore? Not for a long time.
Is it gushing or oozing? Oozing.
Is your leg elevated? No.
Elevate your leg. Ok, yeah, I gotta go. (I can hear Dave, the loudest man in the world, saying "Mother Hen First Responder" in the background.)
Hang up on me and I'll just call you back. Oh, right. (More background laughter.)
My life is fascinating.