Slow Death By Glass

I love glass. Beautiful, beautiful glass. I’m very nearly obsessed with it. But right now it’s out to get me.

Within the last two weeks, two glasses of ours shattered. I cut my foot on a piece of glass. My middlest cut HER foot on a piece of glass, which required Surgery By Daddy and my very best pair of tweezers. I cut my hand on a shattered jar under my bathroom sink. I never have glass under my bathroom sink.  I nearly signed up for a glass blowing class, but since glass has my number, I abstained. My friend thought this was wise, since I’d probably manage to get liquid glass in my eyes.

And now? This. I was making voodoo cookies (a dry run for Killercon Convention this week!) and I heard an awful sound.

This is our patio door.  I sigh.  But nobody was hurt, and that’s what matters.

 

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Thus far. It still needs to shatter out and slash me to death in my sleep. I wouldn’t be very surprised. There’s a story in here, somewhere.

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One thought on “Slow Death By Glass

  1. Mercedes, you do the very best job of making lemonade. You really and truly do. Thanks for sharing your glass issues and I truly hope that things get better very soon. I also hope your patio door does not find a way to slash you to death as you snooze but you are right there is a story there with it and the whole situation. Hugs, Ardee-ann

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