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Bloodbath

I found this.  Makes for the perfect first post. Please note that this was almost two years ago now. A lot has changed since then.       

          Yes, I am pregnant. Look out world, I am spawning! Everything seems to be going fine and dandy thus far. Baby J has a good heart beat and such. We won’t know the gender until the end of August, but other than that everything seems to be going strangely well; everything except for my physical well-being of course.

                I am not referring to morning sickness; I haven’t had any of that. I am not having food aversions or cravings, no weird emotional roller coasters. The only annoying symptom I am having is the constant state of my face. I am breaking out like a pubescent teenager. I have come to accept it and decided that maybe someone will mistake me for a teenager and give me a stint on MTV. Not likely, but one can dream.

                In addition to my fairly normal pregnancy, my hair has been getting thicker and less poofy, the rest of my skin is healthier, and my nails are stronger. So strong in fact that just a moment ago disaster struck.

                I was minding my own business at my desk when I noticed that my squashed toes were bothering me, I thought that perhaps a rock had gotten in my flats (I put away the four inch stilettos when I peed positive). I decided to go ahead and take my break and head to the restroom to remedy the situation. Fortunately our restroom is a single person restroom with a lock. That came in handy.

                I plopped down on the toilet to kill two birds with one stone and kicked off my shoes. I realized then that it wasn’t a rock that had gotten into my shoes. No. It was actually the velociraptor like claws protruding from my toes. I couldn’t believe how grotesquely long my toe nails had gotten. So, like any self-respecting woman in pain, I decided to just reach down and tear off the long portions of my little piggy nails and handle the toenail filing situation when I got home.

Damn you prenatal vitamins.

                I was bent down, leaning over trying to tear my gnarly claws off, when I realized that suddenly my toenails were made of steel. No matter how I used my fingernails and tugged, picked and prodded at my middle pinky toe (that nail was the most out of control), it wouldn’t budge. The nail flexed resiliently with every effort I made to tear it off. My break was winding down, I needed to do something fast to avoid suffering in pain for the remainder of the day. So I held my breath, closed my eyes, positioned two hands worth of index fingers and thumbs on the nail and pulled as hard as I could.

Then I almost fell off of the toilet.

                When I opened my eyes after the initial shockwave of searing pain ran through my body, I noticed that I had not only gotten the wayward claw dealt with, but I had in fact ripped off my entire toenail. Blood was gushing everywhere like a damn geyser. I probably wouldn’t have been so freaked had the bathroom floor been of a normal finish like linoleum or giant tiles. However our floor had to be made of ultra-modern little river pebbles with a ton of easily stained light gray grout.  So, as my toe was continuing its reign of terror in a Mount Kilauea fashion, I stood up too quickly and forgot that my skirt was around my ankles. Yes. I am the kind of girl that pulls her skirt down rather than up when using the facilities. I stepped forward in a fruitless attempt to regain my balance and begun my descent to the ground. Fortunately the wall in front of me broke my fall with my face. I pushed myself off of the wall and felt warm goo trickling out of my nose. It too is bleeding (believe it or not, bloody noses are actually a pregnancy symptom as well. Of course they are). I quickly yanked up my skirt as puddle formed around my toe and on my brand new white maternity shirt. Fantastic. I yanked off my shirt, turned on the hot water in the sink and tossed the shirt in. I shoved about a half of a roll of toilet paper up my nose, and grabbed a roll of paper towels. First I picked up my foot and laid a bunch of paper towels on the blood stained floor. I was bent over trying to stop the bleeding on my toe when I noticed my lower back was getting wet. I lifted myself too quickly and bonked my head on the fancy floating sink. At this point I am about to give up and drown myself in the toilet when I realized the sink was overflowing. Great.

                I shut off the water, and pulled up the drain plug. The toe hemorrhaging seemed to have stopped so I shoved it back into my shoe with a wad of paper towels. One problem down—3 to go. I got down on my hands and knees and quickly started scrubbing the floor with single ply, eco-friendly, perfectly useless paper towels. I was getting nowhere. Then it hit me; I channeled my inner serial killer and remembered (from a David Sedaris book I read in high school) that peroxide gets out blood. We had peroxide at work in the mail room. I just needed to get from the bathroom to the mail room, snatch the peroxide and gimp back into the restroom…in my wholly work inappropriate tank top. It could be done. It had to be done.

                I didn’t really have a plan of attack; I just opened the bathroom door, looked both ways and bolted to the mail room. I reached up to the top shelf and pulled down the first-aid kit. Eureka! There it was, in all of its brown-bottled glory. I turned to sneak back into the restroom when I ran smack dabbed into one of my creepy male coworkers. I was momentarily stunned as a smirk crept across his face.

                “Hey now, what do we have here? Hot or something? I’d say so.” he snickered.

 I scowled, pushed past him and went back into the bathroom. I locked the door and realized that it looked like someone had been murdered in there. By that time the water had drained from the sink so I plugged the drain back up and poured a good amount of peroxide onto my shirt. As it bubbled I began to work on the floor, fortunately for me it worked like a charm. Once the floor was clean I rang out my shirt, rinsed it again in water and attempted to dry it quickly under the fancy Dyson air dryer. Not an easy task.

                After my shirt was dry enough (and by dry enough I really mean not dripping wet) I slipped it back on and proceed to head back to my desk. I looked frazzled, wet, and ridiculous. The peroxide had done its job, but I looked like I had just been in a fierce battle against some unnamed fire breathing foe. As I walked to my desk I knew my coworkers were staring at me. I could feel their beady little eyes on me, but I didn’t care because my bosses were out to lunch. Thank God. It wasn’t until I sat down that I realized why they were staring; I still had a big, bloody wad of toilet paper stuck up my nose. Of course. I sighed and decided to group message the TASK force:

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Their messages made me laugh.  I just sighed and continued on with my day, vowing to keep a pair of toenail clippers in my purse for the rest of my life.

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