Really, I waver between being amazed that I've lived to be this old, and astounded at my ingenuity. Most people, when they hear the words "freak laundry accident", wouldn't immediately think of stabbing unless it was preceeded by a towering armful of dirty linen, a stray skateboard and possibly a pitchfork.

What I did was far simpler. While trying to empty out the water reservoir from the clothes dryer (yes, it is an ancient model), I managed to impale myself on my utility knife that was drying in the dishrack on the counter. Which kind of made me wish that I hadn't sharpened it that morning, until it occurred to me that it's far better to be stabbed with a sharp knife than a blunt one. Ironically, Elvis has issues with me putting knives in baskets point up, albeit usually in the dishwasher. I've now decided that he has a point.

As puncture wounds go, it's a small one. It's the location-- right at the base of my hand-- that's the real problem. Also, I think I knicked a vein, as it took what seemed like forever but was actually 20 minutes to stop bleeding. After applying pressure, I had to walk around with my hand up in the air for 15 minutes or so before I could lower it without the blood welling up again. By then, I was bursting to pee and barely made it to the toilet in time.

Thank you, Dr. Skinner.

Not much happened yesterday, in any case.

I went to my portuguès lessons, and one of my fellow students dropped me off at Jumbo on her way home.

Jumbo is a hypermarket. Their logo is an orange elephant. Zhoom-boo.

I have semi-fond memories of Jumbo from when Elvis and I were first in Portugal, over seven years ago. Elvis had been here on a contract for a couple of months, and when it ended I took a week of vacation and flew over. We stayed with our friend Mike, who had just gotten an apartment here in Cascais, just down the street from Jumbo, which was handy.

He was happy to have us stay with him for the week, as it enabled him to dislodge his crazy English landlady. The traditional concept of English eccentricity doesn't even come close to explaining Regina. It seems she needed some money, and figured a good way to do it was to rent out her admittedly fabulous apartment. She was an aging actress, and quite a few scenes short of an entire script. Apparently, it never occurred to her that she would actually have to move out, and when told-- by her lawyer and her boyfriend-- that yes, when you rent out an apartment you are no longer entitled to use it, did what Regina did best.

She ignored it. Perhaps she thought that it just didn't apply to her, and that Mike would be honored to pay a staggering amount of rent, plus however much he had paid up front, for the dubious pleasure of her company.

I still find this hard to believe, but she actually managed to continue living in the apartment with Mike for several weeks before we arrived. Mike had talked to her, her boyfriend (although not too much, as Mike figured he had enough to but up with), his lawyer, and her lawyer. She ignored them all, and just kept on with her life. Oh, she made excuses about mysterious things that needed to be done for his, that is Mike's, benefit that absolutely required her presence in Portugal. Then she'd go shopping, and carry on as before.

Getting a hotel was out of the question. In her somewhat psychotic mind, she probably reasoned why get a hotel when she owned a perfectly lovely apartment? And Mike was simply too softhearted to change the locks while she was at the mall. But finally she agreed to move out. Sorry, said Mike, but my friends are coming and I need the spare room. There was, in fact, a second guestroom, but Mike had finally had enough and put his foot down.

Quite frankly, I've always been amazed that she actually let him have the master bedroom when he moved in.

She was still there when we arrived, doing what Regina did second best: being a Drama Queen. She was weeping copiously, playing the tragic heroine, deprived of her (second) home, thrown out on the streets though no fault of her own.

I began to see why she needed the money. I don't believe Dr. Who was still hiring at that point, and she wasn't prepared to move to the US to get in on the cheesy Lifetime tearjerkers.

Her boyfriend was mooching around in the corners of the apartment, alternating between trying to hurry her up and pretending he'd never seen the bloody woman before in his life. Finally she put on her hat (straw, suitable for Ascot, decorated with what were probably flowers but it was hard to tell), kissed the ancient cleaning woman goodbye for the fourth or fifth time, and ran down the stairs. Leaving the boyfriend, of course, to struggle with all her bags-- although he had managed to make several trips to the car while she was swanning tearfully about.

Some time after we had left, Mike left a file that he needed for an afternoon meeting at home, so he took the train back to Cascais at lunchtime to get it. He found Regina sunning herself on his balcony.

Topless.

He called his lawyer, who called her lawyer, who said he no longer represented the loony bitch, or words to that effect.

He still didn't change the locks.

As for Jumbo, we went there before we left. Mike needed coffee and milk and so forth, and we wanted to buy some port to take back home. Jumbo had, and still has, a good selection of vintage and other ports and attractive prices, so we had no problem. We found Mike's groceries without a problem as well.

It was while we were trying to find the scotch tape that things got sticky. Any type of clear tape would have done, of course, but we couldn't find it. Oh, we found the auto supplies, and the pet food, and the appliances, and the dirt bikes (located thoughtfully next to the cosmetics aisle), and even the school supplies. No tape.

So we started asking. Only no one spoke much English, and those that could didn't understand "tape". My phrasebook didn't have it. So the increasingly desperate, yet still helpful, staff played pass the customer until we found it.

Tape in Portuguese is fita adesiva.

I still remember this. Elvis still remembers this, and I bet Mike does, too.

I went looking for tape at the Jumbo, and they've moved it.

It is now with the school supplies.

But I could have asked, if I really needed to.

And now my hand is bleeding again. Why oh why do I do the things I do?