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.



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.

One Comment 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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