Mike had to house sit for his dad this weekend, and invited me to stay over with him so I could get some extra rest. It was really nice, because we got some alone time — although I probably spent more time sleeping — and it was sort of like a practice run for when we move in together. I’m always amazed at how neatly we fit together, with everything we do. I mean, we do have our moments and we have our differences of course, but for the most part it’s like we were made for each other. I’m seeing this more and more.

Saturday night we watched the playoffs game. I felt a little better and was looking forward to spending some actual awake time with him. We lost 24-17 to the Chargers and as soon as the game was over he downed some NyQuil and went to bed. (Yes, it was that serious.) I was kind of annoyed at first but I remembered how well he put up with me feeling yucky the night before and kept my mouth shut. (See how that works?)

The next morning we kind of lounged around. We went back to sleep after waking up and then went out to run some errands. After our Target run we stopped at Arby’s so he could get something to eat.

I waited for his food while he got his soda. As he pushed the lever for the Dr. Pepper, the Sprite and whatever was on the right of the Dr. Pepper came out. I couldn’t help but laugh, because it was something that would normally happen to me. I got him napkins, and after some trial and error he got his Dr. Pepper.

We sat down and he took a sip of his coffee. A few big drops spattered his face. I giggled again and handed him another napkin. “You’re stealing my thunder,” I said, pretending to pout.

After a few more errands we headed back to his house. I jumped on Twitter and started a live broadcast about Katy. Halfway through, I heard Mike yell my name. I stumbled into the bathroom to find him holding his hand under gushing water.

“What’s up?”

“Get me, get me–”

I blinked and suddenly each droplet of blood came into focus. His pants were splattered. The washcloth he had on his hand was soaked with crimson. Blood was all over the floor and was dripping into the sink. “What happened? What’d you do? What do you need?” I started digging through the linen closet, trying to find a clean washcloth. He showed me his hand, and on his thumb was a neat inch long cut.

“I cut myself with the knife,” he said.

“Doing what?” I couldn’t see him being, well, like me. I’m usually the one who does stupid shit like that.

“I was trying to get my brush open.” He had bought a new brush at Target, and it was tied to the cardboard packaging with zip ties.

About a half hour or so later, he was still bleeding and rapidly soaking the second washcloth. “You need stitches,” I said, examining the cut. It was only about an inch long, but it was wide open. You could see the blood gushing out and the guts. Tracy sat with us and the three of us looked at his options. I didn’t feel too good about him not going to the hospital. It clearly wasn’t going to stop bleeding anytime soon, and I didn’t think a butterfly would work.

I finally convinced him to go to the ER. By the time we stopped at the store for cigarettes and Gatorade, it was about six or so and he was still bleeding. He wouldn’t let me drive, and I kept thinking he was going to pass out and drive us into a rail and over a cliff. (I didn’t tell you my imagination is overactive?) We got to the hospital at 6:16 — I remember because he had to write down the time when he signed in — and didn’t get in to actually get stitched up until around 8:30. By the time we left it was almost ten. He got three stitches. We stopped at CVS for gauze and then went to McDonald’s for something to eat. (While we were waiting for paperwork, I started getting sick because the only thing I’d eaten all day was a bagel. I so should stop yelling at Sarcastica to eat if I’m not going to.)

We stopped by his dad’s so Mike could drop off the house key and then he dropped me off. I was kind of worried that he might cut his hand off this time without me around, but I talked to him earlier tonight and he is alive and well.

Meanwhile, I feel craptastic. I probably have an ear infection or maybe an infection in my throat. Blegh. I also bought the Covergirl Bare Minerals knockoff when we went to Target and it so isn’t the same. Too bad I can’t afford Bare Minerals. I think it’s like $50. Oh well. At least the Covergirl works a little.