Definition: In this task, you are given a Reddit post as a text. Your task is to generate a title for this text. The title should start with "TIFU by", followed by a situation that caused humor. The title should contain 7-12 words, ideally.
Input: Text: alright....so here’s the thing. my grandma taught me how to cook. she’s not a regular grandma that teaches you how to make cookies and such, though. no. from a young age she had me familiarized with the kitchen. by age 10 i was making lasagna on my own. 

so on friday i figured i would make her proud by making confit du canard and pommes de terres  à la sarladaise (duck confit and duck fat fried potatoes, basically...it’s good stuff).  so i did everything by the book...and let the duck sit in the kosher salt and pepper...blah blah blah..

fast forward to today. i’ve got the confit in the oven, and things are smelling great. it’s been about two hours, and i’m ready to start slicing my yukon gold potatoes. so i grab a knife. and then i remember i bought a mandoline (a fancy cutting tool) for days like today. and i am so happy because it is going to save me so much time and i’ll look so professional. my grandma will be damn proud of me.

so i grab the mandoline, and looked at the safety handle that holds the produce...and i’m like “yeah whatever i’m a fucking pro! i don’t need this thing”....and was slicing my first potato. all was good! they were all uniform and what not and then it happened... i lost concentration for a split second. next thing i know, there is a searing pain...i look down and the blade is covered in blood. i instinctively yell “ouch!” and my husband (who knows what i’m doing) just moves like it’s standard work...grabs the bandaids and “happy cream” (polysporin).

he finds me in the kitchen, with my hand under the running faucet, my head is hanging as i look at the floor and trying not to focus on the pain. and then he sees the trail of blood. he looks at my finger, and his jaw drops open. 
“you need to go to the hospital”...the pain is rushing up my arm, and at this point, i haven’t looked at the cut...so i look. and oh my god it is deeper than buddhas soul!!! i can see the bone. it is at this point when i realized i fucked up. i fucked up hard.

he tries to wrap it and he rushes me to the hospital. i’m bleeding hard and fast.  he keeps telling me to apply more pressure...but i’m basically squeezing my damn finger off!! we get to the hospital and i’m triaged. now, i’m a makeup artist, and had done some special effects work the night before, and still had paint on my hand (alcohol activated...it doesn’t come off easily) and the triage lady asked for my “non bloody hand”...so i give her my left, non bloody hand covered in paint...she looks at me, scoffs and scolds me. “i said the non bloody one!!” which i laugh and say it’s paint from work...so finally after her not believing me, i finally just gave her my other hand...the one covered in actual blood, and she puts the arm band on. the nurse gets me in pretty quickly and they start checking tendons and what not. the doctor keeps poking and prodding my finger and i look at him, dead in the eye and say “do that again and i’m gonna throat punch you”.  my husband then scolds me, and the doctor without missing a beat, calmly looks up, and says “no. don’t throat punch me”....

so after five minutes he gets the bleeding under control, i’m stuck with a needle and frozen (after me freaking out over it all and basically losing my cool...i don’t like needles) and he stitches my finger. all done. he tells me no work, no getting my hand wet, and no bending my finger for a few days. they apparently see mandoline wounds all the time. 

i get home, and walk into the kitchen...blood alllllll over the potatoes, all over the floor, and sink. in the oven, is my duck confit....still cooking away.

TIFU by making confit du canard for dinner