I can't get the smell of the onions off my hands. Oh God, this is how murder is like, right? I know how murderers feel now. They can't get the smell of blood off their hands after they stab their victims to death. Me, I sliced up an onion REAL GOOD. Diced some parts of it into tiny little cubes, in fact. And now that oniony smell is here to stay. I'll be constantly reminded of my sin for the rest of my life. No amount of washing can ease my conscience.
Or maybe I should just use more soap.
In other news, I suspect that I twisted a leg muscle while lounging in my chair at work yesterday. Everytime I put some weight on my right leg, it's AAAAARGH. Sure, I can still drive a car and walk from the carpark to my house / workplace, but like last night, when I was standing around the hall and watching that episode of Buffy where Faith switched bodies with her? Accidentally shifted my weight to the right leg and it was Return to the Land of Inhumanly High-pitched Shrieking. Just like how the little children* do it, complete with post-shriek whining.
Memo to Diane: Do not attempt to emulate Buffy-Faith fight scenes with a twisted leg muscle.
*: This in no way means I like to play with little children. It's just that I'm pretty experienced at dropping heavy stuff on the toes of tiny toddlers.