i cut my finger playing skee ball yesterday.
it was the first game that we were playing for the night, and here i was: bleeding. profusely.
[okay. maybe profusely is an overstatement. but this was no paper cut, ladies and gentlemen.]
it wasn't one of those things i could wipe on the old pair of jeans that i can't seem to get rid of.
as tactfully as i could, i asked where the bathroom was.
[did i mention that i'd met the guy only thirty-four minutes beforehand?]
i tried to stop the bleeding, and
(figuring that fashioning a makeshift paper towel tourniquet would be gross)
decided that asking for a band-aid was my last option.
we waited while there was some drama about a girl wanting a lava lamp at the prize counter.
and we waited.
once he saw how much blood there was, something magical happened.
he was assertive, interrupting the lava lamp business and making sure i got my band-aid.
[the bleeding stopped.]