It’s all Fun and Games until Someone Dies of Blood Poisoning

I have had a shitty day. Shitty.

It started off with my books not balancing; every time I calculated the numbers, they came up differently. This was irritating in and of itself but, my adding machine was also rocking all over the place due to crap that had gotten shoved underneath it as it sat on my desk. Crap under my adding machine irritates the ever-loving shit out of me as it is and, a rickety rocking adding machine screwing up my math was not something I was happy to deal with so, like a mature adult, I lifted the machine with my left hand and, with my right, I executed a quick sideways sweep of the area while loudly cursing whomever had felt the need to litter my desk in the first place.

As I swept the area, my finger was viciously stabbed by the business end of one of these:

What. The. Fuck.

For the record, I don’t floss my teeth with that kind of instrument and I sure as shit don’t floss my teeth at my desk. Or, in my office. Or, anywhere other than in front of my bathroom mirror for that matter.

So, as I nursed my bleeding, painfully throbbing finger (bastard hit bone, I swear to God), I arrived at the obvious conclusion that someone who works with me is trying to kill me.

Seriously, the human mouth has more bacteria than a dog’s mouth and, when one picks their teeth with a sharp instrument and then leaves it in a location where it is bound to impale an unsuspecting victim, what other conclusion could one possibly draw?

Murder by blood poisoning.

And, you can laugh now but, when my finger turns black and falls off, causing a panic attack that ultimately stops my heart from beating, you’ll be singing a different tune.

Who will be sorry then?

You, obviously; I won’t be sorry because I will be dead.

Which will make for another shitty day, no doubt.