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

Holy Separated-At-Birth, Batman!

Gary Oldman...meet Uncle Knit-Knots from Imagination Movers.

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.

Hair

This has become the age-old question...Why do men hate short hair on women? I've been thinking about this a lot because my current style, an angled bob, requires a bunch of fussing every morning to get it to do anything. My favorite haircut of all time, as far as ease of care, was my pixie cut. I loved that I could wash it, gel it, and be done. No blow drying or flattening or curling. Just gel and go. Very sporty. I thought it looked cute. My husband has another opinion. The longer the better is his motto. Thing is, my hair becomes an unruly, tangled, nappy mop when it gets long. If I had all the time in the world and Jennifer Aniston's budget, I'd be more than happy to grow it long and have others style it every day. In real life, I guess I'd rather go for comfort and convenience. And if you ask me, I think the pixie is dang cute. I suspect heterosexual men aren't hot on short hair, in general, because it's too much like their own hair. No matter how much jewel