So I was straightening up my living room Monday morning, walking around in bare feet as I usually do in the apartment, and suddenly there's a sharp pain in the heel of my left foot. I lift it up to have a look, and there's a bit of broken glass sticking out of my heel.
I knew it must have gone in a ways, or I'd have never felt it through the callous there (and my fingers didn't budge it when they brushed up against it). So I carefully pulled it out--a small chip of glass, all sharp edges, in a vaguely pyramidal shape. There wasn't much blood, which was good as I was standing on carpet at the time.
Here's proof of my state of mind, though. Instead of hopping off to wash my foot and bandage it, that I might not bleed on my floors, I stood there on one foot and inspected the bit of glass. I could tell which point had stabbed me because it was faintly discolored with blood. Enough so you could see it with the naked eye, but not enough to instantly say, oh look, blood. I'm sure it would show up nicely under luminol, but there might not be enough there to swab for DNA. Or maybe there would, actually. I'd have to look that up.
These are the thoughts I was having. I kept the bit of glass, and put it on my desk where I can see it when I'm writing.
I guess I'm hoping it'll be a inspirational souvenier that will encourage my CSI muse.
Yes, I'm weird, but you should all know that by now.