The twins were getting ready for bed. I was reminding them that it would be easier to brush their teeth if they would stop talking. After about ten minutes of this diplomatic discourse on brushing teeth, we noticed a spot of blood on the sink. It was coming from my finger. There was blood running down my hand and onto the sink. It wasn’t a bad cut. It was one of those tiny little cuts that bleeds a lot but isn’t a big deal. I think it was probably cat-related but I honestly don’t know how it happened. “Your blood looks very red.” “He’s right, it’s like the color of Christmas decorations.” “Wow, your blood is very festive.” “You have a very festive finger.”
