Let's talk about broken bones

[kandrathe]

Sounds like my incident when young (<8) when my father made me drink a glass of turpentine. I protested, and I knew what it was. My mother was painting some shelves in the kitchen, he thought I had refused to drink my bedtime milk. Mother came in and was aghast. I was green, and the milk, cookie and turpentine slurry erupted. My father was in the doghouse and left to nurse me back to health for the next few hours with generous applications of tea, toast with honey and brandy.