Bloody Mary

I wasn't expecting any comments on my boring post about my run last week, and instead I got a whole bunch!

And by 'a whole bunch' I mean 5. But hey, that's a lot in these parts 'round here.

And since I had so many comments, I thought I'd do another run post.

(Now my 5 commenters are saying, 'Ah Man! Why did I comment on that?!")

So I had a much better run today, and was pleased with my time and effort. I ran up all the hills I usually walk, and finished 11 minutes and 52 seconds (but who's counting) faster than last week.

But when I got home I looked at my shoe and thought,

Huh. Wonder why my shoe's pink?

I then took off my shoe to find my sock completely soaked in blood.

Now you know I love a good exaggeration to help out a story, but as you can probably imagine, if the blood soaked out the top of my shoe, my sock was pretty bad.

It looked a lot worse than it was...one of my toenails cut into the toe next to it, and I swear I didn't even feel a thing.

JR felt it though. 

 He was screaming and hollering (as only a dramatic offspring of mine could do)

and I even thought he might pass out.

I said, "JR, how are you going to be a doctor if you can't look at blood?"

JR: "I'M NOT GOING TO BE A DOCTOR!"
*scream, stagger, flail*

Oh that's right.

The only job JR's ever said he wanted was to be a chef.

The child who won't eat a fruit or vegetable wants to a chef. 

Seems to me if you can be a chef although you won't eat most foods, being a non-looking-at-blood-doctor wouldn't be much of a problem either.