And if you’re heading to bed with someone that just put tiger balm on his shoulder, don’t let him touch you until he washes his hands ten times.
Yeah - I know the feeling. I was going to mention my first marriage.
Well, that or the teaching the dog how to howl thing when he swiped my face with his damn talons in retaliation. He did NOT enjoy the lesson, and made it QUITE clear.
On Fathers’ Day last year I decided to multitask by dropping off a load of laundry in the basement of our apartment while taking the dog for a walk. I had the leash in one hand, and the handles of the laundry basket (it’s a soft cylinder mesh thing from IKEA, not hard plastic) and started tromping down the stairs. Did I mention it had rained that morning? I’m not sure what happened, exactly – whether the dog tugged or I just stumbled – but I took a major spill down several stairs.
I popped up and did a quick inspection for broken bones. It seriously took my breath away. Several inches above my ankle, on the outside of my left shin, the flesh was dented in. Severely. Right where I had apparently hit the stair. I was able to walk the dog and get the laundry done, but I no longer multitask. And the bit of my dented-in leg, months later, is still slightly dented and painful to the touch.
Back in my first year of college, we had a little mini-fridge in the dorm room. The freezer portion had built up so much ice the door would no longer close.
So, now that we couldn’t keep our beer cool, I had to remove some of the ice. Not being very patient, I took a hammer and screwdriver and started chipping away at the ice.
The full blast of freon missed my head by centimeters.
Same thing here… except I touched my wife. :eek:
Nothing worse than an angry wife.
I was cutting a piece of foam board in half with an Xacto knife. I had the edge of the foam board propped on my thigh. When I got to the bottom of the foam board, I sliced a good gash in my leg. It didn’t hurt immediately. It was like this:
“Oooo. I cut myself.”
pause
“Oooo. I’m bleeding.”
pause
“OW. OWOWOWOWOWOWOW!”
It healed nicely, but I still have a good scar.
Down there?!?!?! :eek:
I did that with IcyHot on my hand one time and spent the next few hours trying to repair the hole where her head went through the ceiling.
I had borrowed one of those two-part pasta pots from my mother-in-law. When the pasta was done, I carried the pot over to the sink and proceeded to lift the perforated inner pot out to drain the water. I lifted it too quickly and boiling-hot water spurted out onto my shirt, burning the skin around my belly button underneath. I grabbed my shirt and pulled it away from my skin as quickly as I could.
I didn’t feel a thing and thought I’d gotten lucky; there was a vague red mark on my belly. What I didn’t realize was that I didn’t feel anything because I’d melted all the nerve endings in the area. Two days later, I had a repulsive runny open sore that hurt so bad I had to walk around holding the waistband of my jeans down and my shirt away from my skin.
Moron 10 year-old firebug me.
Rolls up some newspaper into a tube shape and lights the end on fire.
“Hey, it looks like a big cigar! Wonder what would happen if I inhaled from the other end?”
I ended up lying on the floor, lungs and sinuses burning, hacking and hacking, thinking I had killed myself.
BEEN THERE DONE THAT! 
Bad times…
I decided it would be a good idea to pop the holey part of a spice container off by prying it with a butterknife. The resulting cut on the thumb took a day to stop bleeding, and I still have a scar from it.
The world famous Three-Margarita Home Haircut.
Snorting acid without knowing how many hits were in the little pile.
Trying to run across the lawn in spike heels after a rain storm.
Jumping on a mattress (with satin ticking) to get it down a steep and narrow stairway…with a wall at the very bottom.
That’s just a sampling.
Wait…what?
You never heard of Atomic Fireballs?
When I was in college, we were doing a sort of skit-thing for homecoming that required us to learn a dance. And so, we were dragged to this dance studio place to practice.
By the end of the week, we were all thoroughly miserable, and somebody brought around a big box of candy including marshmallow peeps.
While we were outside smoking, someone thought it would be a good idea to set one on fire. Since I’d missed out on the mad rush for candy, I said, “Hey, gimme that!” and tried to take a bite from the not-burning part.
Unfortunately, the fact that it was on fire made me hold it gingerly, which allowed it to sort of flip itself over between my fingertips while I was raising it to my mouth, which resulted in the burning bit lodging underneath my nose.
I immediately yanked it away, of course, but being a marshmallow, a good chunk of it, plus flame, remained lodged there, and I could see little flames licking around the edges of my nose.
My nickname for the next two years was “The Flaming Peep”, which is much less awesome than you might think.
If my daughter answered: texting while riding my bike no-handed in the street until hitting a parked car and thoroughly scraping the skin off my hand/arm on subsequent landing.
You did that?
All the fire-talk reminded me of another time. I was quite young - 8 to 10 I bet - and at my grandmother’s there was a rusty old oil barrel used for burning trash. Pretty fancy.
I was admiring the flames and the heat, and then noticed near the bottom of the barrel (the exterior) a nail head sticking out. The pointy side was inside the barrel. So naturally I leaned over and touched my fingertip to the nail head.
I’m sure I’ve never touched anything that hot ever again.
My entry if we’re only relating fire-related issues, well, the time we lit streams from various household spray bottles on fire doesn’t count because we didn’t do anything to ourselves, thankfully, but the excellent flames from petroleum based sprays are in retrospect not worth it.
So it would have to go to the time when we were camping and decided, after we had pretty much thoroughly put out the campfire, to make sure it was good and dead by adding some bodily liquids to it. Right next to our tent. Bad bad idea. The smell was the worst I’ve ever created and we could smell it all night.
No, sorry, was channeling my daughter since it happened vaguely recently…and she texted me that she was coming home and I had to take her to the Dr.
For me, more in the fire vein: drunken, college aged, came home to find ants on the wall and the back of the couch. Was really pissed off at them for some reason (like it was a personal offense) so got the WD-40 with the little red straw, and flamethrowered them back to hell. Somehow the couch caught fire and I couldn’t put it out with the water sprayer on the kitchen sink due to distance. But my girlfriend’s knitted blanket was in reach. That was not a fun mess to clean. In any sense.