I can't keep a promise

So I've been on a bit of a bender lately and I promised myself that I wasn't going to consume any sweets this week.

It's been ridiculous how much crap I've eaten lately.

I did really well all day yesterday and thennnnn I nearly cut the tip of my finger off with our new wicked nice, sharp knives and immediately decided I would eat cookies as soon as I stopped gushing blood.

Because surely cookies are the only thing that can make me feel better in this type of situation.

I'm only slightly exaggerating about the cutting off my finger part but for real, I might have a real big problem if my nail didn't get in the way. Or you know, I continued to cut through my finger...Irrelevant.

I can't even type with it right now. It hurts. Wah.

This is the second time I've cut my finger on these knives in just one week. What the hell is with that? I guess I'm not used to having nice things or something because I have never cut myself washing dishes before.

Or maybe I need to pay attention to what I'm doing?

I'd also like to mention that PB forced me to put peroxide on the damn cut. True to my inner six year old, I tried to sneakily talk my way out of doing it by explaining that the knife was clean and I really didn't need it and we don't even have peroxide. But I failed miserably. PB was onto me.

Can you blame me though? Does anyone remember how bad peroxide used to sting when your mom dumped it on a fresh scrape you got from stupidly jumping your bike in the school parking lot and landing on nothing but your knees and elbows?

Yeah, the last thing I want to do is add more pain to my finger situation. No, thank you.

And then he told me for the fourth or fifth time to do it and so I did. But only for fear that I would get a terrible infection and have to amputate my hand if I didn't.

To my surprise, it didn't hurt nearly as much as I remembered.

Maybe it's because I'm a grown up?

Or just a gross exaggerator and enormous wimp.