My daughter Cecily has a strange problem.  Wild animals like to bite her.

Right after this picture was taken in Bali, the monkey bit her:

In Borneo, this orangutan bit her:

We even got it on video.  Check it out here.

The best part of the orangutan bite was when our guide pulled out a little, brown bottle from his fanny-pack.  Then, with his dirty finger, he wiped iodine on the bleeding bite wound, thereupon proclaiming, “She’ll be fine!”

And she was.

Then today, at the Lion Park in Johannesburg, this little guy bit her on the thigh right after the picture was taken:

Like I said–wild animals like to bite her.

A few years ago, after seeing this photo from the Tiger Temple in Thailand, Cecily asked me why I was using her and Elizabeth as human shields from the tiger:

I told her that I thought the tiger would prefer her and Elizabeth’s young and tender meat to my old and gristly meat.  I was just looking out for the best interests of the tiger because I’m thoughtful like that.

She didn’t buy it.

But now we have proof that over and over, wild animals like her young and tender flesh, because, truth be told, I haven’t been bitten once.

Sometimes it pays to be old and gristly.

In less than an hour, I’m heading to the airport in Johannesburg to fly to Salt Lake City.  Jason booked my ticket about 8 hours ago.  I’m flying to the US to be with my 19 year-old daughter who is having surgery on Wednesday.  Don’t worry, it’s not too serious.  She’s having oral surgery on her jaw which has been locked for a week and a half.  She’s only been able to open it wide enough to get a straw through her teeth.  I’m surprised that she hasn’t completely lost her mind yet.

Being away from family at times like this is the HARDEST part of being in the Foreign Service.  And I am so grateful that I can fly home at the last minute to be there for Cecily.  Her surgery is scheduled for the day before Thanksgiving.  Our Thanksgiving dinner will probably be takeout from Village Inn–but that’s ok.  At times like this, things like turkey and stuffing really don’t matter.  What matters is being with my daughter on a really hard day.

My plan is to spend Thanksgiving giving thanks for my daughter’s good health … and airplanes.

Oh, and by the way, I’m flying home through Paris to show those SOB terrorists that I’m not afraid of them!