With the amount of weird and tragically comic things that happen to me, I'm not surprised that there aren't hidden cameras documenting my life to be later broadcast, neatly edited, as a sitcom.
You can file this latest incident under Things That Happen Only to Amanda along with such winners as "Hair Catching on Fire From Explosive Potpourri Burner", "Falling Down a Flight of Stairs Before a Dinner Party", "Getting Bit by a Dog", and "Bat in the House".
Friday, I was up in our fourth floor room digging out stuff from our crawlspace to put in my mom's yard sale this weekend. Alastair was busy playing with his ocean mat. I had plastic tubs of stuff pulled out around me like a fort. Feeling satisfied that I has edited my Halloween decorations to an appropriate level, the plastic tubs were being returned in their proper order within the crawlspace. My body was half in and half out of the crawlspace when I felt my bare foot scrape against something most unpleasant in the space where the carpet ends by the crawlspace opening. My first thought was of a minor little abrasion, like a shaving knick, and indeed when I first examined my ankle, that's what it appeared to be.
Then the bleeding started.
Now in hindsight, the wound really isn't that big or deep, but apparently the area of the foot right by the ankle is a heavy bleed zone on the body. I swiped the first little river of blood away with my hand and took a quick survey of my surrounding. No where was there a box of tissues or even a towel or rag I could use to stop the bleeding. Before I could get down to the bathroom, I had to replace the door to the crawlspace or Vivienne (who was waiting patiently outside the door) would zing right into the eaves, the minute I opened the door). But first I had to navigate the wall of plastic tubs to even get to the door panel leaning against the opposite wall. All of this with blood running down my foot.
I tried swiping at the blood a few more times with my bare hands, but that just redirected the floor down my foot and between my toes. I went onto my good foot thinking that by elevating the bad foot, it would take longer for the blood to drip to the floor. Flawed logic. Splashes of blood from between my toes and off of my heel fell all over the carpet as I hobbled around trying to get the door panel to cover enough of the hole to the crawlspace so that Viv couldn't squeeze herself though and into the forbidden attic area. Alastair, meanwhile, is occasionally looking up from gnawing on his toys to ponder this Mommy-Woman and her strange one-legged dance while cursing loudly.
With the crawlspace sufficiently sealed, I hopped down the stairs to the bathroom all the while leaving perfectly circular blood drips on each step and a nice pathway into the hall bath. Once in the bathroom and mopping the blood of my feet with handfuls of tissues, I discovered that the blood had run all over the bottom of my foot... After I left a few smeared crimson footprints on the floor. It took me a while with a wet washcloths to clean my foot entire to where I could see the actual wound, I hit it with some Bactine and a BandAid.
By this time, Alastair was getting anxious as the Mommy-Woman had left in such a strange fashion and not yet returned. I scurried up the stairs, careful not to step in my bloody trail, dodged the plastic tubs all spread across the room, and scooped up the hunger-fussy Boy. I had to wait until Alastair went down for his nap before I could clean up the mess. Surprisingly, most of the stains came out of the carpet (The crappy carpet, mind you.) and the bloody footprints wiped right up.
My life the sitcom centered around me, the pratfalling, accident and unusual circumstance-prone main character. All I need know is a smartass sidekick (gay or a lush or both) and I've got a formula for a hit.