Earlier today, I shaved my face. At one point during the routine, I noticed that a lot of hair had collected under the blade and wasn't rinsing out. Rather than wipe perpendicular to the blade, I tried to clear the razor by running my index finger across it. What was I thinking? I didn't even draw blood, but I have a nice slice across my fingertip now.
This is nothing, though, compared to the unspeakable trauma suffered by Martha. She somehow got her finger caught in the hot air vent, pinched between the vent and a louver. She was just sidling along the wall when she suddenly started screaming bloody murder. We tried and tried to get her finger free, but it wasn't clear why it was stuck at all. I handed Gloria the butter, thinking that maybe Martha's finger could be greased up and removed, and then headed down to the basement to grab the wrecking bar so I could pry the register out of the plaster and get at it from the other side. Fortunately for the wall (and my sanity), Gloria found the problem: after MJ got her finger in there, she moved the louver somehow and got her finger stuck.
It took a long time to get her calmed down after that, and even once she was settled, she didn't do well at her last bottle. Hopefully she will not be troubled by Brazil-esque dreams of malicious ductwork.