April 18, 2007
Wanna See Somethin' Gross?
Actually this one isn't that gross... until you hear how I did it. Got it washing out the inside of a soup can before throwing it in the recycle bin. Yup, just rotated that "safety" inner edge across my hand.
You just cringed and inhaled sharply through your teeth, didn't you?
And I couldn't even swear properly because Boy Child and Girl Child were present, so I'm like, "God--! Sonuva--! Mother--!" Highly unsatisfying.
Luckily! I had onhand the pirate bandaids that Marty gave me! Actually, once my hand stopped throbbing -- three days later -- I was tickled to have an excuse to use them!
I was especially delighted to find the "treasure" contained within each box:
Yup, that's a pirate duckie. Two concepts I wouldn't have necessarily put together myself, but it's... cute. In a disturbing sort of manner.
Anyhoo, THIS is The Grossness you were warned about in the title.
No, that's not plum toenail polish. That's my toe. Just in time for sandal season.
I had borrowed a bunch of folding chairs from Spikette for Husband's 50th birthday party. So of course, they rattled around in the back of my Explorer for two weeks before I drove the grueling four minutes to Spikette's house to return them.
And one would think, after listening to them shifting around for all that time, it might occur to me that the chairs were no longer stacked neatly, as they had been when I loaded them in.
But no.
Shifting contents were the furthest thing from my mind when I opened the back and half a dozen metal chairs slid out and onto my foot.
Yeah. I caught the full brunt of a speeding folding chair square on my big toe. And again, Nephew was present, so I could utter no blue streak, despite the tears in my eyes and the ringing in my ears.
I didn't look at my toe until the next morning. I didn't want to see it. Actually, I didn't want to see it even then, but I was at Dr. Hottie's for an ankle check-up, and I had to warn him not to touch my toe, upon penalty of agonizing death.
So he did. "Does this hurt?" I hhhhhhhhhhhhate him.
He said he was checking to make sure it wasn't broken, even though everyone in the world knows there's not a damn thing that can be done for a broken toe. But he moved it around, with all the glee of a ten-year old boy poking roadkill with a stick.
Then he looked at it closely and said, "Oh, I bet your nail is gonna fall off!"
Bastard.
I mean, looking at it, he's probably right. But he doesn't have to sound so damn excited about it! Boys are weird. He'll probably keep me coming in for ankle check-ups all summer, just so he can watch the progress of my molting toe.
No cute open-toe summer shoes for me this year. My mama raised me right, and you just don't inflict this kind of thing upon your fellow man.
Comments
ok. i need that pirate duck.
oh yeah, the wounds. sorry about that.
anyway, the duck. how can i get one?
Posted by: amy at April 18, 2007 10:17 AM
I will plan a memorial for your beloved big toe nail if you tell me where I can get me some of them pirate bandaids?
Posted by: Vicki at April 18, 2007 10:57 AM
Pardon my French:
"Zut alors!"
"Fils d'une chienne!"
"Mere fouchent!"
When we finally meet, I'll teach you the pronunciations.
-L.
Posted by: Lori at April 18, 2007 12:21 PM
You could wear open-toed shoes, just get more cute band aids to cover up the nastieness!
Posted by: Hope at April 18, 2007 01:03 PM
just paint it with the oh so vogue reeaaally dark polish...until it falls off
Posted by: elle at April 22, 2007 02:01 PM