whiski_sour | Maybe Santa will bring you a pretty bandage

So, the vacation curse has continued for my dad. Last year, while on vacation, he broke his collar bone.

Tonight, Dad tried to cut off his thumb (the second time he's tried to do so in my memory).

He was dicking around with his new knife, dropped it, and, being the genius he is, tried to catch it. Thumb go slicey.

Me, being the loving daughter that I am, told him not to bleed on the carpet while laughing hysterically.

I did help him bandage it, though. After about twenty minutes, he decided to go to hospital for stitches.

He asked me if I'd like to go with him and I politely declined (by politely, I mean I told him "fuck no, I've got better things to do than sit in an emergency room with you", which he totally understood 'cause he didn't want to go either, but he kinda had to because he didn't want "bled to death from a self-inflicted thumb wound" in his obit).

An hour or so later while I was on the phone with

hobbitgal, Dad came home with five stitches and this odd bootie like thing on his thumb. The relatives are going to enjoy giving him shit for this on Christmas. I know I'm looking forward to the jokes.

So, that's been the most interesting thing that's happened all day (not out of the ordinary, though...self-inflicted wounds of the stupid variety are common in my family).

Now I must do that sleep thing because I have to go to Mummy's house tomorrow...er today for Christmas Eve and there will be homemade pizza and I want to be coherent for that.