I almost offed myself.
Oh, not on purpose, but by accident.
My life did not flash before my eyes.
I did see the end title, "James Bond 007 Will Return Without You."
I am very near-sighted. I could not find my glasses on the bed table, so considering the cat occasionally knocks stuff onto the floor, I slid off the mattress and searched the carpet for the peepers.
No luck. While I was on the knees, I checked the night table again. The Scandinavian furniture has a pull-down shelf which extends beyond the counter space nestled inside a small chest of drawers. When I looked through the pile of magazines and doodads accumulated at the rear, I propped my arms on the outer shelf in order to lean in for a closer view.
Mistake. The shelf collapsed from the weight, literally breaking apart from the mounts and falling to the floor. Subsequently, I descended like a brick. The underside of my nose hit the edge of the solid wood table with great impact. Pain and a flood of blood arrived immediately.
My first thought was of my wife because I love her and I feared I was in deep trouble without her assistance.
My second concern was, having never bled with such profusion, I could soon pass out and expire.
#3: I have nine unseen episodes of "Monk" on the TiVo. Me dead = grim.
Being home alone, I figured the best emergency move was to try to stop the bleeding. With both hands cupped beneath my smeller gusher, I raced upstairs to the bathroom sink and quickly tidied the mangled mug in the mirror and packed toilet paper into my in-and-ex hale holes.
I sat in a chair with my face tilted back. I brushed the kitty aside. Dangling nostril Cottonelle is not a cat toy.
The bleeding ceased swiftly and I lived, in case you haven't noticed I'm typing this report.
Other than general soreness and a swollen proboscis, I am fine, although my ego has suffered damage. No matter how many times I've shared this sober tale, I recognize everyone wrongly assumes I was drunk.
Going forward, I'll claim bees stung me for swiping honey.
