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.