Slicing and Dicing
One of the reasons I love writing with the Sidetracked Sisters is that after we’re done, we sit and read our words out loud. What follows is a mix of thoughtful edits, helpful suggestions, and the occasional laughter at the absurd lessons we’ve learned—or haven’t.
Sometimes, though, the lessons come before the writing even starts. This week, we were all racking our brains, searching for unwritten, unpublished memories about an injury. It wasn’t easy. We’ve covered this topic from multiple angles already.
I’ve shared stories about my broken leg and even breaking my “va-jayjay.” Judy’s written about her diving drama, Mom almost lost a toe during a bike ride, and Michelle had her ACL rupture saga.
Everything seems a bit anti-climactic after those major traumas.
But let’s be real—my life is peppered with mini-traumas. Little, insignificant ones that I willingly walk into on a regular basis—like nearly every time I cook dinner. You see, I’m a frequent victim of the fillet knife and my trusty mandolin.
According to Michelle, I cut myself about once a week. My personal guess is more like once a month, but who’s keeping track?
I love making sautéed or baked veggies, slicing potatoes, carrots, zucchini, and onions with reckless abandon. However, I refuse to use that vegetable guide thingy designed to hold the veggies while slicing. Instead, as I near the end of the slicing process, I convince myself I can get a couple more swipes in. Spoiler: I usually can’t.
The last time we were at the cottage, I sliced into my finger while cutting an onion with a not-so-sharp knife. I asked Aubrey to grab me two band-aids—one for now and one to stick on the cupboard door for the inevitable next time.
So, what’s the lesson here? Well, if you’re going to live life on the edge, you might as well stock up on band-aids. And maybe, just maybe, use that vegetable guide… or not. Where’s the fun in that?
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