Confessions of a Grandma

My first husband was a community spirited, giving back kind of guy, and that is extremely admirable. He may have gone too far, though, when he convinced me, many years ago, to go with him to donate blood. As he pointed out at the time, I was young and healthy. I should feel a responsibility to help those in need. It was an easy thing to do. He did it on a regular basis. They give you juice and a donut when you are done. Okay, all ready. I went with him to the Congregational Church where the Red Cross was having a blood drive. The volunteer greeting us at the door gave me a sticker: "Be nice to me. It's my first time!" Goody, a sticker. What am I? In first grade? I was given some paperwork to fill out. Obviously, the purpose of the sticker was to prompt others, workers and donors alike, to say, "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt a bit." A nurse pricked my finger and knocked a drop of blood into a little vial of some kind of liquid. I think the drop was su...