sarahcentric

Well, it happened.
The food processor finally attacked me.
Sneaky little jerk!

I always thought it would come during a complicated sugo recipe, or maybe a new pie crust experiment-when I cursed at it while taking it down from the tiny cabinet it lives in, or wrestled with the stupid bowl which I am convinced that only engineers who graduate from Stanford can snap into place! But no. The Food Processor is too clever for that.

It waited until last night, when I felt my safest and consequently most vulnerable. Here I am like freaking Bambi cleaning my apartment feeling safe and secure, when I pick up the cheese grater attachment. I have never used this blade once in my entire life. Maybe that’s why I put my finger through the long slice slot as if it were a handle and not a samurai sword. Or maybe, just maybe, The Blade lunged for my finger and screamed “hiiiiii-YAH!”. We’ll never know.

I do know that for a few brief moments after the slice and dice, I reached a new level of human consciousness. I was no longer Sarah Jackson. I was one of those Communion aliens or perhaps a Pre-Cog, capable of great wisdom and a thorough understanding of the human condition.

“Curious. There is my left ring finger with a new and large flap at the tip. How dark, beautiful, and tragic it all is. We are one. One are we. Are we one?
Wait…is that blood?!! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod GROSS GROSS GROSS!!”

I was pulled back from the brink of death by some great friends on Facebook and Twitter. They stuck with me from “just cut my finger and it’s making me a little nauseous. What’s the protocol?”, to “if I don’t make it through this, Jess you can have my cookbooks and Jason you get my Lord of the Rings DVDs” and ending with, “I WANNA LIVE! I WANNA LIVE!!”

They were able to cut through my freakout with important tips like pressure and elevation. And most importantly, “Sarah! If you can Facebook, you are probably ok!!”

I am telling you though, it was almost curtains for me! I saw the other side, and it was filled with donuts, cider, and hayrides.

I would have stayed, but a voice told me that my friends and family still needed me.

Who else would make the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies?