During the highly dangerous pursuit of getting several loads of washing off the line just now, I somehow scraped a fair amount of skin off one of my right knuckles on a sharp edge of the washing basket.
While I was wrestling with sticking a rectangular plaster on a very less than rectangular knuckle, so as to avoid bleeding all over the cheese and crackers I was about to make for them, the following exchange took place:
Me: [typical melodrama] I do hope this stops bleeding soon! If I pass out in the near future, please do call an ambulance.
One: [sounding slightly bored] We will.
Two: [With great animation and excitement] Can I press one of the nines?!
I might write about the rest of the day later (assuming I haven’t bled to death). It’s been lovely.