This Just Happened In Real Life

So, I’m in the kitchen and cutting open an avocado which is about to go bad. I figure I’ll mix it up with some feta cheese and eat it with pretzels. We don’t have tomatoes. I usually put tomatoes in it too.


I slice it in two, twist it and pull it apart. Then I cut the one half like a graph. I always take the knife and make a row of cuts, then do the other side, so the pieces almost come out in cubes.

The next side is the side with the pit. If you’ve ever cut an avocado, to get the pit out, you stab at the hard core with a knife, twist it and pull the pit out.

I stab.

I miss the pit.

Instead, I hit another target I wasn’t aiming for.

I hit the flesh of my skin, right between my thumb and pointer finger, the fatty little spot that if you have a headache, you’re supposed to squeeze together in order to eliminate the headache.

It’s one of those pointed cuts, not a slice, but it feels deep and I feel like, “Oh my God, how bad is it. How bad is it bleeding? I didn’t want to look at it so I tell Diva I just cut myself and she runs to get me a band-aid while I grab paper towels and cover up the wound. So, I see that I am not hemorrhaging or even oozing blood but I feel a little nervous, and unsure, so I call my neighbor.

Neighbor First Choice doesn’t answer.

Neighbor Second Choice doesn’t answer.

Neighbor Third Choice, who should have been my first choice, answers her phone.

“Hi, I’m OK, but I just cut myself. I’m really OK, but I think I need an adult over here.”

Zzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppppp!

Wonder-Neighbor is here in a flash. I let her in, then we sit on the stairs together. I explain, “I’m really OK, I shouldn’t have called. It’s not even bleedin…”

Then, Wonder-Neighbor looks at the ottoman and sees the weapons.

A camouflage gun and a 14-inch Ninja sword are on the couch. She looks at me, shocked, and then I realize, “She thinks I tried to commit suicide!”

“They’re fake!” I shout. And start laughing. I’m like, “Come on, ME? Do you really think I’d be that outta whack? My kids are here! They’re fake! They’re toys!”

And then we start cracking up over the absurdity that I just happen to call her for help, and that there are TWO weapons, which I am one of those moms who didn’t let her kid have one of those paddles with the ball stuck there with a string for fear it could take someone’s eye out. I always scowl at the thought of them playing with weapons, and here, very conveniently, are TWO weapons, and it looks like I am making a serious cry for help!

We put some cream on my 1/8 of an inch wound, which obviously, I am fine because I can type this up like the chick in the courtroom types – fast and furious – and then I stick a band-aid on it.

I tell her thanks, I love you, she loves me. We have a great neighborhood, and of course, then we laugh full-well knowing I would never do anything crazy like that in my entire life, not even if 40 Weeks never sells! Winka winka.

It’s about a half-hour later and the doorbell rings. It’s Wonder-Neighbor again.

“I just wanted to come over to check to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine!”

Then she eyes the toy weapons again, and we look at each other and laugh.

“I told Katie and Jeff (not her children’s real names) about it. They said, ‘Are you sure the knife wasn’t real, mom? You should go back and check!’”

Aw, come on! I have got way better things to do with my life than contemplate suicide!

All joking aside, if you do ever feel like there’s no other option, please get help. Things might be shitty, but there’s always help, and, most importantly, there’s always HOPE. If you do need help, go here: Suicide Prevention or call 1-800-273-TALK

This has been a Public Service Announcement from Manic Mom.