in the elevator with a nice, young couple speaking Spanish. (Them, not me.) As we ascend to our parking level, I notice something odd.“I’m bleeding,” I say sheepishly, holding up my finger.
They smile in agreement and continue their conversation.
The doors slide open; we exit--the Spanish-speaking couple to the right, me to the left. I glance down. I’m now DRIPPING BLOOD all over the parking garage.
What the hell?
I mean, dripping.
I get to the car...well, I can’t just get in and drip blood all over the leather, can I? I glance inside. No tissue. No toilet paper. Only the newspaper article Blogreader Joe gave me on Sunday. Haven’t read it yet, but oh well.
I daub my finger all over Buenos Aires. Again. And again. And again and again and again.
I suddenly start worrying that God has a plan...that when I break down on that unlit road leading back to my hotel and the serial killer gets me, there'll be a trail of DNA. I find myself wondering if years from now some lunatic will claim to have mixed his genetics with mine.
And still it drips.
I mean, I haven’t even really gotten in the car yet, and I can see drops of blood on the seat. Finally, I find the closest facsimile to a Band-Aid I have: a Citibank receipt.
I wind it around my finger and it sticks nicely. I drive back to the hotel.
I make my way to my room. By this time you might fear I’m faint, but geez. It’s just a finger. DRIPPING, mind you, but still....just a finger.
Stoically, I get inside, march to the bathroom, put on my glasses and stick my finger under water. Ick! Big ol’ flap of skin hanging off it.
Which just goes to show. Never borrow a razor from your sister-in-law before you get to a hotel. And never, EVER, put it in your purse for later.
2 comments:
I am not going to give my "JEWISH GUILT", but....you came to the Desert and didn't call!!!??? Hope you had a good time anyway!
Euweeeee!!!!!! and too funny!!!!!!!!!
Sounds like you are having fun... Are you still ahead???
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