Cider
Five-year-old Timmy is playing with scissors in nursery, and he cuts himself. He rushes to the teacher. “Miss, miss! I’ve cut my hand! I need some cider, miss!” “Cider?!” cries the teacher, horrified, “Why on Earth do you want that, Timmy?” “Well,” explains the boy, “my big sister says that whenever she gets a prick in her hand she puts it in cider.”

