Honestly, I don't know how it happens.
As you know (because I told you in one of my blogs) I had a black eye and a shaved eyebrow at my very first booksigning, for Horseplay. This was because my sharp eyed derm spotted a wee skin cancer possibility right above my eyebrow and insisted that he remove both right away. And you also know, courtesy of another blog, that my very first radio interview was done with a mouthful of toothpaste due to a mix-up with the time differences. So, here I am, new book, Still Life With Elephant, out on July 10, and I am doing a booksigning and all excited, and what happens? I do something dumb like pick a tiny weed from my garden on my way into the house, and piss off some yellow jacket/wasp/killer bee/Mothra combination and get stung on my right hand, which of course, is my SIGNING hand, and it swells to baseball glove proportions and i look like The Hand From Outer Space. Can't hold a pen, can't even close my fingers. So I quickly look up cures on the internet, which is, as we all know, just absolutely the most respected venue for medical accuracy, and in short order, put the following on the sting: a messy, sloppy, dripping-all-over-the-place paste of baking soda (which did nothing), ice (which numbed it as it swelled like a balloon), a sugar and water paste (nothing) vinegar (nothing, but now my hand smells like cole slaw), tabasco sauce, pickle juice (nothing, nothing, nothing) and finally, ta dah, Preparation H, which, I am embarrassed to say, I keep in the house to apply to other surfaces. Tiny bit of relief with the Prep, but the hand still looks like it could float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. My only comfort is that the wasp, incensed that I dare interfere with its privacy, divebombed and followed me screaming (i did the screaming) into the house, where i KILLED THE DAMN THING! I hope it ends up in wasp hell and has an intense allergic reaction to the medication that i take for my blood pressure. Poetic justice, i say.