Mark on the porch with a butcher knife

I had to ask Mark tonight if he would still love me if I only had 9 toes after he nearly amputated one (accidently, of course).

We ate dinner out on the porch and were cleaning up. I was walking onto the porch and he was walking off, carrying a cutting board with this bad boy balanced on it. As he tried to manuever around the high chair, the knife slid off and landed, blade down, right on top of my big toe. Ouch!

I couldn't even look. And when I did finally look, I kept checking. And rechecking. Because it only left the teeniest bit of a cut right at the knuckle of the toe. I'm amazed-and grateful-that the damage wasn't worse.

So how do I leverage this? Guilt him into giving me a foot massage? Leave the kids here for the day with him and get a pedicure? Buy new strappy sandals that hide my bandage? Maybe all of the above? I mean, the man nearly amputated a crucial digit. That's got to be good for something. :-)