Is There A Doctor In The House?

We've suffered some injuries both to our pride and our person this Christmas.

Joe's Christmas zit is finally beginning to look less like MRSA and more like too much stress.

Sam has turned his ankle and rubbed a blister on his left foot with Zoe's high heeled princess shoes. The carpet burn on his face that nixed the holiday family portraits is much better though.

Zoe poked herself in the eye with her talking vanity wand. It wasn't "magically" opening the compartments as it should. As she was beating it in a fit of rage, she bobbed when she should've weaved and plowed herself in the peeper.

And last but not least, I've lost a great deal of my right pinkie nail. Joe was pillow fighting with the kids and I warned him to be careful. He was smacking them pretty good and I thought it might hurt them. So I questioned his authority and, real quick like, he launched the pillow my way and screamed, "Think Fast!" (You know how guys do that?) and I did. I lifted my hands, even the weak one, up just in time to have the pillow snap my fingernail off down into the quick. It was a bloody mess and still hanging there by a substantial hunk of skin. I made him clip it with the manicure scissors and he looked duly horrified.

Oh. And we're all suffering from another special kind of torture.
Give me diarrhea over constipation any day, I say!