How do you cap off an already bad day. . .

you pass out in the kitchen floor, not once, but twice, causing your beloved boyfriend to call 911.

By now you are asking yourself, "What?" Well, welcome to the club. I am still not sure what happened. I will, however, give you a bit of a rundown on how my fun and exciting evening went down. This is exciting stuff, I tell you, but I could go for a boring evening tonight instead.

When I got home, I immediately started to dig into the laundry that had been piling up. My obsessive-compulsive tendencies were in overdrive, we had laundry, we had cat hair everywhere. I had decided that morning that I had to take some action. So, I headed for the basement and I was putting some stuff in the dryer. When I went to shut it I got a little overzealous and closed my finger in it! Yoweeeee!

After hopping on one foot and trying not to use anyone's name in vain, I decided to run some cold water on it to freeze away the pain. (I don't know that you can actually freeze away pain, but it was a good theory.) I trotted upstairs and as I ran the water I started to feel a bit dizzy. I wanted to sit in a chair, but couldn't muster the will power to pull it out, so I sat on the steps leading into our den.

The dizziness got worse instead of better when I sat down. I started to have that familiar feeling that anyone who has had too much to drink may recall: "I must get to something cold. I must put my face on this cool floor."

As luck would have it, Cynical had taken the night off and was coming through the front door with groceries in hand. I found myself crawling across the floor yelling for him, but I am not certain I did much more than whimper. I finally told him that I thought I was going to pass out and I just laid on the floor. Within a few minutes I was passed out. Cynical would argue that I had a seizure at this point, but we are still fighting over this one.

I finally woke up and thought I was OK, but apparently I passed out (or seized) again. When I came to again, I could hear Cynical on the phone. Apparently this time he was unable to rouse me and got panicked.

Me, in my quest for good appearances, was mortified. I immediately tried to gain composure. After all, this meant we were having guests and I didn't want to not be presentable, even if they were paramedics there to help me. I found myself straightening my hair, putting on my glasses and sitting with good posture on the cat hair covered kitchen floor. If I could have gotten up without falling, I would have swept the floor, sprayed air freshener and maybe made some cookies for our impending arrival.

After passing our house, not once, but twice and after I begged Cynical to call back and cancel the request, the two female paramedics came in to examine me. I must say that these people have great customer service skills. They didn't talk down to me. They didn't even argue with me as I worked diligently to downplay the whole situation. They were even kind the cats. One even commented that you couldn't tell by smell or appearance that five cats resided there. Gee, thanks Miss Paramedic Lady.

After I convinced them that I didn't need to be transported anywhere by anyone, much less on a gurney in the back of an ambulance with flashing lights, they left.

I made Cynical call my parents, like 12-year-old would. We had big plans for a home-cooked dinner, but everything kinda changed when I fell out in the floor, he explained as he ordered pizza.

My folks came over and we relived each time they passed out. They mooched some pizza and I sat on the couch knitting. I thought laundry was the cure all, but now I know it's knitting.

So, a scheduled romantic evening had a unique spin and all is well today. The good news is that I slept very well last night. The bad news is that now I have to change my name and move.

And. . . the finger doesn't even look that bad! I can still knit with it.