Last night I was sitting on the couch, half-heartedly sketching while I was watching that new BBC series, Sherlock.
Tangent: Sherlock is totally amazing. Watch it right now, especially if you’ve read the original mysteries. Awesome.
So I’m sitting there drawing while Taylor thumps around in the office, setting up his third computer monitor because yes, he needs three, it’s actually very useful and important, didn’t I know that? Occasionally the thumps give way to bursts of singing or mild profanity. Whatever. I’m too busy with Holmes and Watson.
Suddenly, I hear a yell.
Me: “Sweetie? SWEETIE? What’s wrong? What happened?”
Taylor: “I DROPPED THE MONITOR STAND ON MY FOOT. OW. OW. BLEEDING. OW.”
I jumped up to help, and as I jumped up, I deftly plunged my pencil into the palm of my hand.
Me: “OW OW OW”
Me: “I JUST STABBED MYSELF IN THE HAND. BLEEDING. I’M BLEEDING TOO. ARE YOU OKAY. DO YOU NEED A BANDAID.”
Taylor: “I THINK SO. WHERE ARE THEY.”
We weren’t asking questions, really. Just yelling.
Me: “IN THE BATHROOM IN THE THING NEXT TO THE OTHER THING. OW OW. LOOK. LOOK AT MY HAAAAAND.”
I stumbled into the bathroom. Taylor’s big toe was oozing blood as he pulled a bandaid out of one of the drawers. I showed him my hand, where a tiny drop of red was swelling under the pinprick.
Me: “Need me to put the bandaid on?”
Taylor: “No, no, I got it. Go back to watching your thing.”
Me: “What did you say happened? You dropped a monitor on your foot?”
Taylor: “A monitor stand. Very different. You okay?”
Me: “Yes. You okay?”
We are obviously geniuses. Our children will rule the world.