I realized I’ve written about potties a lot lately so I thought I would regale you all with stories about something else. My finger. My right, index finger to be precise. I have done wild and wooly things with that finger. My mother was adamant about what I was NOT supposed to do with that finger. “If I catch you pointing your finger again, I’ll break it off.” She would lovingly correct me. She would sweetly educate me on personal hygiene with, “If I catch you doing that again, I’ll break your finger off. Use a tissue.” Not being able to point or use my finger to um… attend to personal needs I had to find something to do with it. Let’s take a quick break here to offer some advice to parents of young children and partners or friends of idiots. If your light bulb burns out and you don’t have a new one to replace it right away, leave the dead light bulb in the socket. Trust me on this one. While the resulting lesson in electrical conductivity is useful in later life it is not a fun way to learn. I was about 5 or 6 years old and I was supposed to be practicing for the upcoming ballet recital but after 20 minutes of plies and glissades, I was bored. I wandered over to the lamp and looked at the empty socket and I wondered what would happen if I stuck my finger in it. What happens is the invisible electricity monster springs out and chews on your arm with a million jagged teeth while your heart tries to exit your body through your toes and your tongue wraps itself around your head. You also fall on the floor. Twice. Oh, and the lights in the house flicker. My mother called up the stairs, “What did you just do?” Stuffing my tongue back in my mouth I answered, “Nothing.” My arm felt pretty funky for a couple of days but other wise, as far as I know, there were no long term results from my trip down Thomas Edison Lane.