Yesterday afternoon, I embarked on a rainy day home improvement project. In the process, I managed to slice my finger open, proving once again that I should not be allowed near sharp objects.
Going through my medicine cabinet, I realized that I didn’t have any band-aids. I asked one roommate, who said he didn’t have any, and then approached another one – the one who happens to be a San Diego native and has a father who’s a prominent Padre employee.
He laughs and says, “sure, I’ve got a band-aid for you.” He returns with a big smile on his face and says, “here you go.” I looked upon it in horror, yet with the alternative being a finger gushing blood, I didn’t have much choice:
God, I hate the Padres.