My daughter... My beautiful, sweet, amazing daughter has been repeating something a lot, lately... "I wish I never got this plantar's wart." Yes, the poor thing has been battling a plantar's wart (and me) since this summer. Now, I've always been under the impression that you should pick warts...they're like onions, and have layers (sorry, had to throw in the Shrek reference) that need to be picked. So, we started our war by applying Compound W...and picking the dead stuff off...then one night, I pulled too much and a river of blood poured from her foot. If there's anything I've never told you about my Belle, it's that she's a medical freakazoid. She FREAKS at the thought of anything that maybe, possibly, could potentially hurt a little, teeny, tiny, eensy weensy bit. You can imagine, with the hunk I pulled off that caused that river of blood, there was a bit of pain. And tears. And sobs. And guilt. That was the end of that. Then we started usin...