The Garlic Messiah

It’s a good day, people.

Today marks the first day that my hands have almost fully healed.

No masturbation jokes, please.

About a week or so ago, while preparing a savory pasta dish, I thought I’d get all chef-fancy and try to get the skin off a clove of garlic by rubbing it between my hands really quickly. Not unlike a shipwreckee using a stick to start a fire, or a cartoon character scheming connivingly before a commercial break.

I actually rubbed my hands together like that for a good thirty seconds or so, before noticing that my garlic was covered with blood.

Let me tell you. It was a really special moment.

As a result, for the last two weeks I’ve been walking around with these two large Jesus-like scars on my hands. I don’t think anyone really noticed—I’ve been pretty good about hiding them—but part of me was actually a little disappointed. I think I would have enjoyed trying to explain my wounds to a confused/disgusted onlooker by saying, “What?! It was garlic. It was the GARLIC!”

On a side note, next time you’re preparing a savory pasta dish, add a drop or two of your own blood. It’s more delicious than you’d think.