I'm concerned...

...that Adam might be trying to kill me off.

The evidence:

1) I was bitten by a centipede-thingy on the toe. My toe turned purple. and hurt. I thought about ending it all with a blunt object (but actually, that could be rather hard, come to think of it), or by jumping off something high. Maybe Adam hired the centipede? Planted the centipede? What if it was intended to be near my heart, but it got me on the toe instead?? I could have died.

2) Right around the next day or two (coincidence??), I was clipping fresh lettuce from the garden. I was using our kitchen shears. Suddenly, on a particularly thick and coarse stalk, the scissors chomped down on my finger, nearly slicing clean through (OK, that may be a small exaggeration. a small one). But really, there was a gush of blood, and I got light-headed and had to go sit down. Adam finished the lettuce, and there were no more shear accidents (coincidence??). Then, while I was sitting light-headed on the couch, I recalled a similar incident two years ago, only instead of shears it was a sharp knife, and instead of lettuce, it was a tater. AND...to make it even more suspicious, both wounds were on the same finger (coincidence?? I'm beginning to think not!) Were the scissors rigged? Was there a metal file in the lettuce, making me squeeze harder, thus nearly resulting in a decapitated finger?? hmmmm

3) Last night, I began a "spring cleaning" project like a dutiful wife. I started in the kitchen, wiping kitchen grust (that's grease-dust, in case you were wondering) off various surfaces. I noticed, as one is apt to do in these situations, that a rather thick layer of grust was accumulated on top of my cabinets. So, I did what any dutiful, spring-cleaning wife would do: I grabbed the step-stool. I stepped up to the top of the stool (this is not a little mini-stool. it is probably almost as tall as my waist) and began banishing the grime. Then, WHACK, next thing I know, I'm suspended from the swinging freezer door, and my foot is positively throbbing. The step-stool is a broken, huddled mass on the floor, splayed out in all directions. COINCIDENCE???? hmmm. Now that I think of it, my Mr. WAS the last one to use that stool!

4) Adam has agreed to buy me pizza for dinner. I know this will end in my premature death from atherosclerosis.

What do you think, oh reader-detectives?? Maybe I should sleep with pepper spray under my pillow!!!