red finger

While cooking* breakfast today, things took an unhappy turn when the knife (plenty sharp, thanks) took an interest in my index finger.

It was a healthy gash, say 4mm deep, and as I applied kleenex pressure and spent 10 minutes looking for my box of bandaids…I had some time to think.

And this is what I realized.
The term “caught red handed” is really quite morbid.
You very rarely hear it in reference to actual murders, but really…that’s the only crime it makes sense for.  Unless someone really abuses the food dye, wiktionary’s cookie jar example is far far removed from the original situation.

We’re talking a pretty messy, violent murder at that. No swimming-with-fishes, no poisoning, probably not even a gunshot. This is like, hands-on gory mess. Or…unfortunate crime involving an acid bath.  I think I’ll stop now.

Anyhow. Found the bandaids on the kitchen counter. I can only assume that I put them there shortly after cutting my finger, and then forgot that I had done so, leaving the counter as the absolute last place to look.

Breakfast time!

*slicing up an asian pear