So yesterday I decided I needed to clean the outdoor a/c unit. I just knew it must be full of built up cottonwood because that's how life is here in Norman, Oklahoma. And because my house was 76 degrees and it's permanently set to cool at 69. Something was wrong.
As I pull the hose around the house to the side, I know I'm in for a fun experience. It's 104 outside and I'm wearing my bikini and a coverup. Plus my Tori Burch flip flops. Because who doesn't want to look cute while they are dripping with sweat and cleaning an outdoor a/c? Not me. I digress.
At this point I'm beginning to realize that spraying down the sides of the unit isn't cutting it. I'm going to have to remove the outer screens in order to get at the coils underneath. Partly because I don't have a nozzle on my hose and I'm having to create pressure by using my thumb. Totally ghetto, I know. But I am the orginal Mrs. Fix-It (thanks to a daddy who taught me goooood. But that's another blog post.).
Anywho, I begin removing the outer screen and spraying down the coils when I realize these sheets of cottonwood come off better when they're dry (like a lint catcher in your dryer). So I am tentatively at first, and then aggressively, scraping these sheets off by hand when I push harder near the top and slice my finger open in three straight lines. OH YES, I DID.
But it gets better, my dear reader (I know there's only one of you.). I continue the job, thinking as I went, about all the great facebook posts I could use to explain my bad ass-ness for being the most handy wife on the planet. And then it happened.
I was putting the screen back on, dripping with sweat and handling these wet screens. As I propped the screen with my hip and clutched the drill with the other hand, I lifted the screen into place with my left hand. And as quickly as that, it slipped, slicing off the top of my finger. OH YES, IT DID.
Now. Cover your ears if you don't want to know what I did next. I yelled at the top of my lungs, MOTHER! And by God's grace, the other word stuffed in my throat, right then and there. And thank goodness for that, since our friends and their son were around the corner in the backyard, using our batting cage. Bless you, sweet Jesus for protecting that little boy's ears from me.
OK, moving on. I go running inside to rinse off the inordinate amount of blood that is coming from my hand. And as I hit the kitchen sink, my mom sees blood and starts screaming. "Oh my gawd, Kim! You need to get in the car! We need to take you to the hospital! Grab your sweater!" WAIT. What? Why the $@%! do I need a sweater? Have you seen the temperature outside? But by now, I'm starting to think she's right (about the hospital, not the sweater) and I grab my purse and high tail it out the door for her car.
Now you should know, dear reader, that my mom is NOT a great driver. She calls it defensive driving, I call it crazy. Either way, as she drove me the 1.5 miles to the immediate care center, I was on the verge of puking. She is all over the road, "herky jerky", I believe I yelled at some point. And I'm moaning. Oh the moaning. I keep staring at the injury (a hinge of skin flapping and about to fall off), when I feel like I will pass out as I puke. I scream, "pull over!" and mom throws the car all over the road as she pulls over. And frankly, I'm not sure if I'm nauseous from the low blood pressure or the car sickness.
I throw open the door and lean out. And then I realize I'm about the pass out as I puke on CONCRETE. Ouch, that would hurt. I should get back in the car. I hear a faint sound, like a phone ringing. Oh! It IS a phone ringing! I'm not halucinating! And then I hear my mother pick up the phone and yell, "SHE'S THROWING UP ON THE ROAD! IT'S AWFUL! I'VE GOT TO GO!"
Can you say dramatic?? Holy crap, maybe it's HER halucinating and not me! But as I close the door, she hits the gas, throwing me around in my seat.
And that, dear reader, is how I made it to the minor er. Where I got a BANDAID and a tetnus shot. Which hurt like a MOTHER SCRATCHER.
The Offended Finger