Last Friday I cut my finger with a knife doing dishes. When I called my mom downstairs to see it, her response? "What were you doing washing the dishes?" I felt I was fairly brave in the ER, demanding the same drugs Michael Jackson used. And mentioning that I vomit at the hint of stitches. While I avoided any needles, I also dodged a well meant psych exam. Here is my glued finger. And yes, that is the Christmas tree in the background. I have June in the family bet.
