Hell yes, it’s hot!
Ever since that deal with some ass pilot suing McDonald’s over hot coffee, manufacturers have been going nuts with the warning labels. Now I’m all about household safety, but the things you’re most likely to get injured with usually don’t have warning labels.
The first warning I would hand out is that: Alcohol Complicates Everything.
I can say this not only as a former binge drinker, but as a frequent drunk watcher. I get to witness the consequences of drunken stupidity far more often than anyone should. I see how one could put the cat in the fridge (thankfully Isabel, when she was living, had a loud voice- and was none the worse for her few minutes of Arctic exploration, as she lived almost 16 years) or run outside doing the St. Vitus Dance in one’s whitey-tighties because one is out of beer. I’ve witnessed a grown man take a piss in a cat box, in a closet, and on more than one highway berm. I’ve witnessed a grown man do a lot of things that no one over the age of toddlerdom should do.
Need I say, “Don’t Drink and Mow, Shithead”?
(hint: yes I do!)
I am not completely absent from the annals of drunk and stupid behavior either, as I probably will never know if I was clothed or not when I answered the door to that hotel room to pay the pizza dude. I just know I woke up about 3 AM stark naked in a bathtub full of freezing water and a half-eaten Domino’s pizza on the ledge. To my credit, this incident occurred in 1993, and this was the last time I was ever really shitfaced, as in forget-it-all-drunk.
Even today, I like a very occasional glass of a decent Merlot every now and then, so I’m not on a mission to encourage people to be tee-totalers. There is a huge difference, though, between a small before-bed nip of wine and quaffing down a fifth of Wild Turkey in the middle of the afternoon.
Sharp things are pointy. Pointy things can draw blood.
I have to say I’ve been party to sharp things/pointy things misadventures. I’ve put knives through my fingertips and palms (not intentionally of course) and have had more than one losing encounter with a box cutter. I am not generally a “bleeder.” I don’t bruise easily. Some days I have to poke my fingertip several times before I get enough blood to feed the meter (diabetics know what I’m talking about here) for my sugar checks. So if I’m dealing with cutlery or other things with points or blades, and I see blood, I’ve probably inflicted a pretty decent wound. It will leave a scar, and it will take awhile to heal.
Normally I wouldn’t think twice about my own dogs. I respect the fact that they are the same species as the grey wolf, although dogs somewhere along the line figured out that the humans with their opposable thumbs and ability to cultivate crops and livestock could offer them a far more cushy existence than scavenging around in the cold tundra for rodents and carrion.
Dogs have 42 teeth. Clara’s (even at age 12) got a formidable set.
The only thing that would give me pause regarding my own dogs is their reaction to strange or unauthorized human activity in their space, and even then, the fear in that situation would not be for my own person but for the blood stains and gory mess left behind on my property. I do have some concern that should I drop dead in the house alone that they may decide to consume the 145 or so pounds of rotting carrion that my carcass would provide. However, if I’m dead, will I really care if I become doggie dinner? I doubt it.
Now I don’t have pit bulls- my girls are primarily herding breeds (GSD X Malinois and GSD X Chow) and Lucy is not a herder at all but a harmless bulldog/beagle mix who just wants attention and doesn’t care who it comes from. But I will agree with guns and dogs as home defense. I hope to never have to utilize either for self defense, but it’s one of those situations where when you need something and it’s not there it could be the difference between life and death.
Now I know why the local Buick dealerships have defibrillators in the service department waiting room.
‘Lizbeth, I’m comin’ to join ya!