Last night we watched the Iron Chef America duel between Rachael Ray and Giada De Laurentiis. I was glad Rachael won; no disrespect to Giada but Rachael was so cute, saying she was intimidated because she was a 'cook', not a 'chef', and then she won anyway. Bobby Flay looks like the kind of guy who goes home, drinks a six of Heineken and beats the crap out of his wife when his sauces burn or his souffles fall. Or, heh heh, when he loses at Iron Chef to that saucy little upstart Rachael Ray. That's my opinion, anyway, and Bobby? Trust me, I'm not worth suing. Yet.

Tonight has been a typical comedy of errors, Helly-style. Nothing too tragic, but laugh at my day-to-day misfortunes! Please. I'd like one of us to have enjoyed this evening. I felt semi-icky all day, because (a) it was Monday; (b) I didn't sleep well last night, (c) Aunty Flo's in town and (d) this weekend's changes in the weather sent my sinuses into overdrive. It didn't help that we were doing some clearing-out around here and stirring up dust, so I doubled up on the allergy meds in order to breathe, and still had to use my spray a time or three. All of this doubtless contributed to the massive sneeze earlier tonight prompting a lovely nosebleed.

Nosebleeds bother me, deeply and primevally. I'm not squeamish about blood and gore at all, on tv or in movies, and even it being my own doesn't bother me particularly. Hey, I once destroyed my left knee so badly that it ultimately took TWENTY-EIGHT stitches to close it, 17 of those subcutaneous, looked down in the cut and saw my own kneecap (well, maybe - it might have been a piece of tendon or something, but saying it was actual patella sounds so much more dramatic) and all I said was, "Whoa - that ain't good." [Sheila can confirm this.] But something about nosebleeds, I'm certain that any minute now the stuff on the tissue will be grey instead of red and it will be my BRAINS leaking out, and who needs that? Honestly.

So anyway I had a nosebleed and it kinda freaked me out especially because Alan saw it, which I know he's my husband and sees me without makeup and even nekkid and all, but I didn't want him to see me being gross. It upset me. After all that drama was over, I decided to resort to my favorite remedy for all ills, a long, hot, soaky bubble bath and a glass of red wine. I generally try to keep the during-the-week imbibing to a minimum, but hey, exceptions justify the rule. Or something.

I was in the middle of my soak, starting to feel a little better. If I'd even tasted my wine, it had been one sip; the glass was nearly full. You guys know where this is going, right? I felt a leak start back in my left nostril. Probably because nosebleeds upset me so, I was more frantic than necessary when lunging for the paper towels I'd placed handy by, smacked the glass of wine off the edge of the tub to the floor and sent red wine flying ALL OVER the bathroom. Instead of relaxing, I got to do an impromtu mopping session. With my clean fluffy towel. Yay.

I wonder why I never spill glasses of white wine. I drink more red than white, true, but it's still not proportional. Of all the glasses of wine that have been upset in this house, I'm prepared to swear that 99% of them have been red. A far deeper mystery is why I never spill nearly-empty glasses of wine, or even half-empty ones. You'd think nearly-empty glasses of wine would be most prone to spillage, because I'd be clumsier for having had most of the glass by that point. But no, I can't blame it on drink: I'm just a frickin' KLUTZ.

The kicker? My nose wasn't even bleeding again. It was just leaking as per usual.