If you drop a glass bottle of olive oil and shatter it, wait until AFTER you've cleaned up to get mad about the fact that it's the good olive oil you were infusing with chillies. If you're focussed on "darn it, this is the one that was working, why couldn't I have dropped the one that doesn't taste this good?" while you're cleaning up the (impressive!) mess, you'll start grabbing the pieces of glass instead of picking them up carefully, you'll drop one, you'll automatically snatch at it as it falls, and you'll end up spiking yourself in the palm of your dominant hand.
If you are unfortunate enough to have spiked yourself in the palm of your dominant hand (thankfully not getting much chilli-infused olive oil in the wound!), you are going to need stitches, especially since something that should probably be inside your hand is poking out of the wound
. When you ask your wife to assist with bandaids, she will take one look at the cut in your palm (streaming blood in impressive quantities
as you hold it under a running tap) and announce she's driving you to the after-hours medical service to get said stitches. No, poking whatever that is back in and
sticking a bandaid over the top will not cut it.
End result? The Good Ethnic Boy has four stitches, and luckily his tendons are fine. He was planning to clean up the rest of the mess himself (I was planning to do it for him because, y'know, stitches in the palm of his dominant hand, not good for wielding a mop) but then decided that he'd just get grumpy again thinking of the loss of his successful culinary experiment, and offered me $100 guilt money to clean it up for him. Score!