For External Use Only
It’s been a long week. I haven’t been sleeping very well, which means I’ve been even more tired and groggy in the mornings than I usually am: and trust me when I tell you that I’m usually REALLY tired and groggy in the morning. Like, I stagger into the office in my dressing gown, and Terry almost always bursts out laughing at the sight of me. Then he knows not to try to engage me in conversation until I’ve had my coffee, or he’ll just get nonsense out of me.
(Actually, even AFTER I’ve had my coffee, he’ll still just get nonsense out of me, to be honest. There’s just not enough coffee in the world, is there? Also: poor Terry.)
Anyway, this morning I was feeling particularly like an extra in a zombie movie as I staggered to the bathroom, grabbed my toothpaste from the cupboard, applied it to the brush and stuck it in my mouth.
And then, all of a sudden, I was instantly awake, recoiling in horror from the TASTE OF HOSPITAL AND ALSO DEATH that was inside my mouth.
Folks, that wasn’t toothpaste on my brush.
No, that would be Antiseptic First Aid Cream. “For minor burns, abrasions and nappy rash.”
For. Nappy. Rash.
I had put something in my mouth that was really supposed to go… yeah.
* * *
I’ve examined the box carefully, as has Terry, and we don’t THINK I’m going to die. It does say it’s For External Use Only, but it doesn’t carry one of those “If swallowed, call an ambulance immediately, even although there’s no point because you’ll be dead by the time it gets there! Sucks to be you!” warnings. (And I didn’t actually swallow it. Or not much of it. I don’t think.) Naturally, though, I’m sitting here expecting to drop dead at any second. If you never hear from me again, you’ll know why. You’ll also know that in my last moments here on earth, my only thought was for you, my readers. “Must… write… random…act…of…stupidity…post!” I gasped, feebly clutching at my keyboard as I slid limply off my chair, frothing at the mouth, and… I’ve taken this too far now, haven’t I? I’ll stop.
You should also feel amazed, and perhaps a little bit horrified, that a dying woman would spend her last few seconds uploading a photo of a dog-in-a-box to the Internets:
Seriously, WHO DOES THAT?