I never notice that I dripped milk down my shirt at breakfast until later that night after I get home from a dinner party. Sometime it’s toothpaste. Sometimes it’s blood. So much blood.
Yours, or someone else’s?
Sometimes it’s amazing just how widely a tiny drop of blood can spread, causing me (and Mama) to assume a much larger wound than the little picked scab or such. And any face or head nick makes it much more exciting, since it flows so easily.
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