After shopping at a bulk department store a week or so ago, I heard my husband yelp as we loaded the trunk. As it turned out, he received a really nasty cardboard paper cut that would have had me cursing a blue streak. Despondently assessing the fat drop of welling blood, he proceeded to reach for the next item in the cart. I couldn’t let him keep working with that painful gash. He needed a napkin or something to stop the bleeding. For one thing, I didn’t want blood staining the carpet of my trunk and immediately stopped him.
“Don’t! I’ll get it.” Barely skipping a beat, I added, “Go bleed.”
Ever since then when he’s feeling superfluous or foolish, he’ll say, “I’ll just go over here and bleed for a while.” Don’t you feel sorry for the guy?
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