The Band Aid Nazi part II

My worst fears were realized today, Dear Reader.

The Band Aid Nazi was playing outside with the neighbor kid.  I had been cajoled in to making dinner for the Nazi and her friend.  I was enjoying making bean burritos, mixing up some black beans and cumin and chili powder.  I could hear squeals and shouts of the Nazi and her friend running through the sprinkler next door.

I tried to pull out the drawer where the can opener lived but it was stuck.  I skinnied my hand through the small space to discover what was preventing the drawer from opening.  It was, in fact, the can opener sitting just inside the opening at an odd angle, hindering the drawer from sliding open any further.  I bent my knees and twisted my hand, trying to maneuver the can opener back in to the space it normally occupied.  No matter how I turned it, the drawer was stuck.  I slithered my other hand into the small space.  My hands and my head didn't seem to be working in tandem, as the can opener turned from one awkward position to another.  Pulling open the drawer roughly didn't have any positive effect.  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what the new can opener looked like.  I could only remember that it was lime green.  That was no help in this predicament.

I don't know for how long I fought that dastardly kitchen implement.  Luckily the tomatoes and onions were on a low heat, so they weren't burning up in the frying pan.  I felt quite smug when I finally got the drawer open.  The smugness evaporated when the new can opener failed to open the can of chicken.  I had to resort to the old can opener.  That was when I noticed a large pool of blood on my knuckle.  In my struggle, I had cut my finger on some unknown kitchen tool.  The suspects were many, as that drawer houses knives, can openers, bottle openers, a corn shaver and a pizza cutter.  I stuck my finger under a stream of water at the sink.  As soon as I removed it, the blood welled up again.  I needed a Band Aid.  That is when it hit me.

I had no idea where the Band Aid Nazi stores the Band Aids.  I rinsed my finger again.  Glancing around, I raced from the sink to the tissue box and wrapped my finger in a Kleenex, putting pressure on the knuckle.  I looked out into the yard, hoping to get a glimpse of the Nazi, but she was out of sight at the sprinkler.  My finger was still bleeding.  I contemplated cooking dinner with a Kleenex tourniquet, but quickly banished the thought.  That's when I remembered that my friend Stacy, after reading The Band Aid Nazi, had given me my own secret stash of Band Aids.

I raced to my hiding place, hoping that the Nazi had not intuitively discovered the box.  Thankfully, it was still there.  I ripped in to the Band Aid and wrapped my finger.  Thank you, Stacy.  Without your thoughtfulness, I would have bled to death today.