I pick up the kids from camp the other day for their physicals, and there is immediate worry over drawing blood, which we'd already worried over to no end the night before.
Boys show up to the car first, together:
Me: Hey, my boss (a hematologist) wants some of your blood if they take some from you today. Would you give him some extra?
Nick: if they numb me, so I don’t feel it.
Ben: Tell your boss he can have my blood, but only when I’m 11. I’m 9 now, so in two years. It’ll be the same blood.
Nick: Wait, what does he want our blood for?
Me: He’s going to take it to his lab and look at it and use it to develop some tests.
Nick: Oh, cool. Like they could use my blood to find cures for diseases. Sure, he can have some, but only a quart. I think I have like a gallon of that stuff; he can have a quart. Ben, you should give him some.
Ben: I will, when I’m 11.
Nick: What if they could find a cure for diseases? Like that disease that makes your arms fall off?
Ben: What? My arms will fall off in my sleep, so it won’t hurt. I’m good. He can have it when I’m 11.
Nick: Well, he can have a quart of mine. But only a quart
Girls arrive, one at a time.
Alida: No Way.
Elaine: Sure, just leave me enough so I can keep living.
Alida (competitive): Oh, you can have all of mine. I don’t need to live.