It Was Only a Matter of Time

This morning I joined the illustrious (but apparently not elite) ranks of those Knitters Who Have Stabbed Themselves With Their Own Knitting Needles.

I was getting out of my car at work, and when I stood up and turned, my knee came into sudden and painful contact with a poorly-stowed needle in the side pocket in the door (with my Traffic Sock). I then turned back to face the door and deal with the offender, but no needle appeared in the appropriate position to have so grievously pained me. This was due to the fact that the offender was stuck in my leg. I looked down at the location of the continuing pain, and like an arrow stuck in a tree, I had a wooden US1.5 sticking straight out of my pant leg, in perhaps the least fleshy area of the side of my knee. I reached down and with a firm tug yanked it out and replaced it in the car door. I had no choice but to walk into work and hope that blood didn’t run down my leg. Thankfully, puncture wounds don’t bleed very much.

When we consider also the head wound I sustained at my own hand last week, I may be required to temporarily abstain from indignantly stating “I can take care of myself, ThankYouVeryMuch,” because apparently, I can’t.