When I was a kid, whenever I had to have a needle my mother would take me out for a milkshake. Not a fastfood milkshake either; she took me to a restaurant that served milkshakes in a glass milkshake glass with the metal malt cup on the side. Milkshakes were a big deal in my house. My mother was very strict about what we ate. We were allowed 1 "special treat" a week - every Friday my older sister and I would sit down to watch Steve Urkel and split a (small) bag of (plain) potato chips and a "pop" (I say "pop" because it was never real pop, it was Koala Springs or some other sparkling juice.) Bribing us with sugar was a surefire way for my mother to get us to do something we didn't want to do.
I use this technique on myself now. I still have a fear of needles. Let me rephrase that, I still have a fear of medical needles. Pierce me, tattoo me, whatever - I'm fine. Inject me with something? Take my blood? I don't think so. I had to have blood taken this morning. I won't go into all the gory details but I will say that there was some hyperventilating and full-body shaking involved (but no tears - no tears! This is progress, my friends.) Clearly I deserve a special treat for making it through such a harrowing ordeal and I know exactly what said treat will be: Jamie Oliver's new cookbook.
I bought Jamie at Home last week for a friend's birthday. I haven't had a chance to give it to him yet, so all week it's been sitting in my kitchen begging for me to crack its spine and flip through its pages. I really wanted to buy it for myself but was having trouble justifying spending $30 on a cookbook when there's a plethora of free recipes on the internet. Five vials of blood has justified it for me. So thank you random thyroid issue for making the blood removal necessary and thank you Mom for teaching me justifying skills.