Fatherly Compassion

In one of her last rushed preparations for camp last night, Erin decided that she needed to shave her legs.

A couple minutes later I heard her yelling out to me.

Walking in, I see her sitting on the edge of the bathtub (suitably clothed, of course) with her feet in about 6 inches of still-rising water, a razor in one hand, a bloody washcloth in the other.

Looking to where she was focusing her energies, I saw a narrow stream of blood cascading from the side of her knee, where she had evidently nicked herself pretty good.

Always the loving father, I remained calm and gave her the following instructions:

‘TURN THAT WATER OFF! THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH WATER FOR JUST SHAVING YOUR LEGS!!!’

After she turned the water off, I proceeded to get her a piece of tissue paper and explain how it would help stop the bleeding and aid in the coagulation process.

For some strange reason, Cindy burst out laughing when Erin explained the above unfolding of events to her.

I can only assume that Cindy is still somewhat lacking in the compassion department.