A Lesson Learned

I'm going to explain to the world why I am a total wimp.
Yesterday, I was measuring our ceiling to see how tall our Christmas tree could be, and I let our tape measure just fly back into the holder... well, I'm sure you can already see where this is going... the tape measure is metal, and therefore very sharp if flying at a high speed. It hit my finger, but at first I thought it just hit it, no big deal... then there was blood... and then there was panic... and then there was the mad dash for the sink to wash it under cold water, all the while trying not to pass out. Thankfully Michael was there (trying to stifle laughter) and held my hand under the water. I'm sure my face was white as a ghost, and all I could say was "I don't want stitches! I can't get stitches!"
As my sister and old roommate, Holly, can attest to, I don't handle blood very well-- especially not my own. I once cut my finger while cutting an onion and had to go into the bathroom because I felt woozy and turned really white... pathetic, I know.
But I have this overwhelming disgust for my own blood, as well as a paralyzing fear of going to the hospital for stitches. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that the one time I did have to go to the hospital for stitches, I could feel the doctors putting them in, but they didn't believe me and kept going despite my protests (oh, and had to bring other nurses and whoever to hold me down because I was FREAKING OUT!). And no, it was not my imagination-- I couldn't even see it (I got them on my knee, so I was laying down) and all of a sudden felt this overwhelming, excruciating pain! Stupid doctors!
So that's my story from this weekend. And a word of advice: don't let the tape measure fly freely into the holder because danger awaits whoever dares do so...