I remember the time in my life when I accidentally stabbed myself with a knife. I was in high school then in Indianapolis. I was opening a jar of sweets and the jar’s lid was encased in a plastic thing and I couldn’t open it. So I used a knife – a steak knife – to prod it open. I had my left hand over the jar and with my right hand I jabbed at the plastic, but I missed and instead jabbed my hand. I jabbed a hole about a centimeter long between my thumb and my forefinger at the base where there was a slight flesh wound. I expected it to bleed profusely, but it didn’t. I was surprised and somewhat relieved that no blood came out. I bandaged my hand and proceeded to open the jar, this time, angling the knife so that it wouldn’t hit anything like my hand again. Years later, I figured out why there was no blood. That part of the hand between the thumb and the forefinger was not a site where blood perfused much and so I got off lucky. I will always respect knives.