Let this be a warning to you all: if you have a craving for a salad at 11:00 p.m., ignore it. Eat a chocolate bar instead; it's much safer.

After an excellent Mother's Day (Mom received her treats way in advance, while Mum came by for a nice lunch), I settled down at the computer to get to work on a magazine article. And the never-ending WIP.

After a few hours, I was starting to feel that I could actually write something that wasn't absolute crap. This is a major bonus at this stage of the game, as I usually hate everything until the night before it's due. So I wanted to celebrate. With a salad.

Never mind that I'd already had dinner hours before or that I'd have to chop and peel my way through the produce to get just what I craved. As a woman who had just created well over 6,000 words between her article and the WIP, I felt I deserved it.

Then I had to go and grab the celery.

Celery is one of those vegetables that everyone leaves for last on the veggies and dip platter. While it holds peanut butter or spray cheese exceptionally well, at the end of the day it still tastes like...celery.

But I wanted that bit of somewhat tasteless crunch in my late-night snack. So, suddenly feeling like this was a lot more work than grabbing a chocolate bar, I held up the celery and tried to cut a small piece off.

It was right then when I realized that I should have placed the stalks on a cutting board instead of holding the green crap in the air while cutting toward my other hand when the knife sliced through the top of the lot. Including a bit at the top of my left index finger.

You know, the part that comes in really handy when...doing anything.

To say I handled the situation well would be an outright lie. I freaked out completely. Luckily the DH comes from a medical family and he applied pressure and did all the stuff you're supposed to do, despite the finger in question being attached to a banshee.

So here I sit with a bandage the size of Ohio on one hand, trying not to rewrite the lyrics of "Blood on the Saddle" to create the new country hit "Blood on the Salad." My typing speed has been reduced to one-third if I can't count the misspelled words. ;)

The thing that bugs me the most is that I'm leaving for New York City at the end of the month, and you know airport security is going to think my index finger, if it still has a bandage, is a weapon of mass destruction.

And they call this healthy eating.