Once, I was in a high school production of Neil Simon’s romantic comedy “Barefoot in the Park.” The day before the show a doctor froze off 5 or 6 warts on my fingers, creating huge blood blisters. As I nervously walked on stage, the blisters popped causing blood to cascade down white, vinyl suitcase I was holding, eliciting groans of horror from the audience. I was too nervous to notice and did the whole act with my hands covered in blood. I didn’t notice until the end when I had to lift the actress who played my wife off a step-ladder on to the floor for a big scene ending kiss. She was wearing a little yellow negligee and my hands left huge bloody paw prints all over her and she refused to kiss. Pretty awkward and awful.