Well! I might have spoken too soon when I said that I felt that everything would be okay with my old athame after our little conversation. I had brought that athame to Hartwood Grove’s Yule in my canvas tote bag as I’ve done on many previous occasions, but–as I was exiting my car to go inside the house, I crossed the bag over my lap, and grabbed the rice salad. As I shifted to exit the car, I felt this horrible, penetrating pain in my upper thigh.
I’d stabbed myself. The athame had poked out of the bag, and had solidly poked me. It had sunk about an inch deep into my thigh.
I never would have thought that could happen. The only sharp point on that athame is its point, and it’s never penetrated anything I’ve put it in, let alone skin. Holy mother, did it ever hurt. In fact, it’s still hurting, and I’m still popping Tylenol.
I think my athame and I need to go to counseling.
UPDATE: It took about a month for the bruise to completely fade. That was one heck of a stick. I think the tool and I are on good terms now, though.