Skip to main content

This totally screws up my 5k training

See that beautiful array of purplish colors to your right? See 'em? Bee-yew-tee-full, eh?

That's about the color of the pinky toe on my right foot.

However, looking down at it at this moment (because I'm not wearing a shoe at work because I cannot fit a shoe onto said foot), I'm beginning to see the tell-tale greens and yellows seeping through. That's a good sign, isn't it?

Still hurts like a bad word. A reeeealy bad one. Like one that could make my daddy the sailor blush.

How'd I do this, you ask? How anyone breaks her pinky toe. I slammed my foot into something heavy and somewhat immovable at a high rate of speed. Actually, I don't remember the details. It happened when I was awakened in the middle of the night by a sick child (who later vomited and retched and expelled his guts out for hours...to get some idea of the urgency with which I propelled myself into the living room). I think it was some sort of toy/gadget/device the kid had failed to pick up from the middle of the living room floor. Thing is, it didn't really seem that bad when I did it, or I would've had more vivid memories of it.

All I know is that my wound is ugly and angry looking and it screamed, "nooooooooooo!" when I tried to cover it with a sock and cram it into an athletic shoe last night. I didn't even bother trying this morning. I'm wearing dressy flipflops. And, now that I ponder, I really should've repainted my toenails. Maybe I will tonight. Some shade befitting: maybe "Classy Contusion" or "Burst-vessel Red."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ho, Ho, Ho, How Many Times Can I Use "I'm too busy" as an Excuse?

I haven't had time to write. Work, swim meet volunteering, holiday decorating and shopping. But truthfully, I've not been in much of a mood to write anything anyway. Last night we put up the tree and Santa chachkies, and I drank my first egg nog of the season, so perhaps I'll be in a cheerier mood. Also, I have spent some time writing the annual Schoon holiday newsletter. If you happen to get a copy, treat it like a drinking game. Every time I make you roll your eyes, take a drink. Nog, wassail, Everclear. Whatever gets you through. One sure way to assist with merriment motivation is listening to Christmas carols. I'm not going to get into a debate over what truly constitutes a carol. You can "Jesus is the reason for the season" yourself until you turn blue; I generally lean toward the secular end of the holiday tune spectrum. And if you just gasped at my use of holiday instead of Christmas, go suck on a candy cane. It's my blog and my opinions. Deal. ...

Who knew...

'Tis the season for bridal bliss. 'Tis also the season for the accompanying reception dance. And what's a wedding reception without that most unique of all marriage celebration dance numbers: The Chicken Dance. You know the drill. Polka starts, beak-quacking hand gestures, flapping, butt shimmying, and clapping ensue. A fun time is had by all (especially if there's an open bar). What you may not know is that: 1. This oom-pah song's origins rest with a Swiss according player named Werner Thomas who wrote it, most accounts say, in the 1950s. It originally was called the Duck Dance. 2. It is NOT German or Austrian, despite the images its roll-out-the-barrel-ish feelings it might conjure up. 3. A fellow named Norm Edlebeck, who was a bandleader from Wisconsin, introduced America to the Chicken Dance on TV's PM Magazine in 1982. 4. More than 140 versions of it have been recorded worldwide, including Walt Disney Records, together making more than 40,000,000 records (o...

IHATE IHOP Update

Tim went a few rounds, verbally, with the IHOP manager on Sunday and ended up getting our meal for half price. He still had to pay, though. I do not think that these people understand the severity of their incompetence. Or perhaps they just do not care. Someone commented to us that perhaps we should tell the IHOP folks what happened to the last restaurant that did us wrong. Recall the lactating masses who came out in support of us when we were booted from Hoover House restaurant in West Branch because I refused to breastfeed my baby in the bathroom? Remember the stories that ran in every newspaper and on every TV news show in the state -- and beyond? I'd like to point out that the Hoover House (which interestingly enough doubled as a venue for wet T-shirt contests on weekends) went out of business after our little incident. And for those of you who were befuddled and wondering how the police got involved on Sunday...someone from IHOP took the time to run out and write down our lice...