Squeamish

Tomorrow, I'm supposed to get my blood drawn for a general health screening. I am not looking forward to this, and the reason is that my blood is not being collected by finger pricking, which is what I would prefer. No, this is going to be by sticking a needle in my arm and sucking the blood out of my veins.

Let me tell you, having somebody jab something sharp into my body, even in the clinical sense, is not high on my list of favorite activities. I would probably rank it near the bottom, somewhere between Violent Train Accident and Delivering a Speech About the Benefits of Needlepoint to a Room Full of Angry, Grown-Up, Bicycle-Chain-Wielding Playground Bullies.

By the way, this is also the reason why I have never given blood to the Red Cross. The reward of a delicious cookie isn't enough to make up for the horror that is venipuncture.

This is also why I have never gotten a tattoo, even though I have wanted the image of Knight Rider jumping over a helicopter on my back ever since I started writing this sentence.

Update: Everything went okay. They found the vein on the first try, and the needle was a lot skinnier than I imagined. Oh, and they gave me a free Knight Rider tattoo! Okay, not really.