First I had to lie down on a surgical table, while the assistant played soothing music. That sort of frightened me a little actually. It was like a subliminal message that they had to CALM YOU DOWN before attacking your wounds with brute force while you are caught unaware.

But it was alright. Nothing particularly exciting or bloody about it, you'd be glad to know (or otherwise?) and it took a grand total of 5 minutes for the surgeon to use a pair of scissors to cut the threads and pull them out of my face.

That cost the school another $200. Damn, now I REALLY want to be a plastic surgeon.

And so now my wound has progressed from looking like a pirate's gash to looking like pink and raw sashimi (according to captain's very wild and vivid imagination, and his innate ability to relate morbid scenarios into something palatable). And I will no longer have to tolerate comments enquiring the reason for my choice of blue threads for my stitches and thinking of repartees to refute their very unnecessary question. Disclaimer: I DID NOT CHOOSE THE THREADS.

Now back to tiding over this awful periods with exams interspersed between off-days.