Acceptance.

Funny, one time I put in my weight and height and all that crap and while my BMI was totally normal, the site dubbed that as "acceptance" and I was just like, OH THANK YOU.

Anyways, acceptance... What does that mean? It means, in context of today's post, that I need to accept that there are just some things I am not good at. Things that, 90% of the time just don't turn out well. I need to realize that there are things I am amazing at (picking husbands, making babies, baking flourless bread), and other things that I just suck at (math, being patient, using cheese graters).

It's the latter subject in that last parenthesized string to which I currently refer. How many times have I grated myself? Too many to count! You'd think I'd just give up, but noooo.

Isn't that absolutely disgusting? I kinda feel like an asshole, posting that pic and enlarging it like I have, but oh well. I bled like a stuck pig for about 20 minutes. All because I was too impatient (recall list of weak suits) to wait for Todd to finish what he was doing and come help. All because I was making my fabulous mushroom soup early so I could sit on the sofa and drink wine watching Once Upon A Time and Downton Abbey.

I mean, I am a woman who has stabbed herself in the center of her palm one holiday season because I was trying to dislodge a melted, iron-hard candle from a glass holder with a goddamn steak knife. I broke the glass, naturally freeing the candle and leaving nothing else to stab but myself. Yay!

I need to accept that fact and either wait for Todd to do it or use my Kitchenaid food processor. But the cleaning, and the parts, and oh come on, I won't hurt myself this time righOH GOD JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL THERE IS BLOOD EVERYWHERE.