I was a really avid bowler when I was a teenager. I had about a 210-220 average. I had blisters on my fingers.
My son now is 22 months old, he's been playing since he was 12 months old and he gets standing ovations on the drums. He's been with us since he was 10 weeks old, he's been on the drums. He's got blisters on his fingers before he can even talk.
He knows much of what men paint themselves would blister in the light of what they are.
I always rate a convention by the lack of blisters from twiddling my thumbs.
I remember in the early days when we played six nights a week for a month and I was doing my long drum solo every night. My hands were covered in blisters.
In the case of the cashew, someone, somewhere, a long time ago determined that it had to be roasted. The cashew was once nicknamed the blister nut, because if you try to eat it raw from the tree, your mouth pays the price. The cashew is not a nut, however; it's a seed.
I've been through the entire list of Polar problems. I knew it would be hard, but it's harder than I ever thought it would be. I've suffered from blisters, a high-altitude cough, frost nip, and I even managed to break a ski they told me was unbreakable.
My feet are not a good part of my body. They definitely have suffered for my art. They're, like, all bunions and blisters.
If you want a place in the sun, you have to expect a few blisters.
When I was young, summers stretched so long, as if they'd never end. Days were like marathons of time, riding bikes until my blisters had blisters, endless energy, and not an actual care in the world aside from when 'Paul' could come out and play. Days now feel more like minutes, almost game show like.
