I’ve had a long-standing knife wound on my left index finger that refuses to heal. While cooking mahi fillets the other day, I required fresh lemon juice.
Let’s just say that experience didn’t end well. The fish was excellent, however.
Flash forward to today when I apparently thrust my safety razor through my chin while attempting to deforest my face.
Mearly a flesh wound, of course, but then the genious that is my brain said, “It’s a good job I don’t rub lemon all over my face regularly. Although sometimes salty liquids do dribble down my chin while I’m eating.”
Now that you’ve certainly recited the obligatory, “that’s what she said,” (as of course, I did), I then looked around and said, “good thing no one was around to hear that.”
I promptly realize that line is perfect for the internets and didn’t want only my toilet paper to have a right raunchy titter.
Funny how it’s my own fault I posted my intimates on the internets.
Privacy is dead; long live privacy.