Joss

Last night I had just gone downstairs to go to bed when I hear the door to the basement slam open.
"Catey?" A timid voice calls from the top of the stairs.

Great. Getting into bed late again. "What do you want?"

"Ummmmm, I can't tell you what happened, but where's the Neosporin?"

This isn't usually something you want to hear from the injury-prone sister of the family at 11pm. I ran up the stairs. Joss is standing there, flashing one of her impossibly large, impossibly goofy and unreal grins. "Hi Catey."

"Why do you need Neosporin?" I already had a million crazy thoughts running through my head. This is the same sister who ate rocks as a toddler, broke her finger twice playing volleyball with balloons, and almost broke her nose when the swing she was sitting on broke. (Needless to say, none of these things were her fault. But that's the scary thing- what if she had accidentally severed an artery or something????)

Joss pulls me bodily by my pajamas into the bathroom. "I kind of sliced my finger." She held up her thumb, adorned with a Cars bandaid. (The only kind in our house)

"Meaning?"

"You know that new razor Dad gave me?"

Oh no. Joss is the most razor-challenged person I know (with the honorable mention going to my friend Emily) She's sliced her legs so bad they scarred. My mind raced. What was my dad thinking, giving her a sharp razor????

Then I remembered. She wasn't even showering that night. What had happened?

"Well," she continued, "I was looking at the razor, trying to open it. And I looked and it had this little arrow: up, close, down, open. And I was like, 'Okay, I'm so smart, I know how to open a razor.' And I went down and shing! it slices my finger open. Blood is everywhere. I'm not even in the bathroom! I had to get Carli to open up for me."

Twenty minutes, five bandaids, and about a quart of Neosporin later, I sent Joss upstairs with a newly bandaged finger.

I couldn't help thinking of Delilah and Samson.

Heaven help whatever man gets between my sister and her razor!!!