My life is not like a box of chocolates.
My life is like a box of Rice Krispies.
Snap, Crackle and Pop.
SNAP!
Is the sound my toe made as it came completely out of its socket.
Someone moved the couch and I walked very fast into the side of it. It was not my fault.
Of course, I was looking where I was going.
I tell you firmly and once more.
Someone moved the couch.
Three little piggies went North and two little piggies went South.
I hopped around like a Kangaroo amputee trying very hard not to use language that would make a sailor blush. My kids were watching in astonished glee.
I did not want to show weakness. Swearing and weeping would be a sign that I was a lily-livered coward not worthy of motherhood.
A high pitching keening sound erupted involuntarily from my throat.
It was very similar to the whistle from a boiling kettle – wheeEEEEEEEEE!
I looked at the offending digit and remembered religious studies. If thine toe offends thee cut if off.
By now vivid purple and listing limply at a distinctly odd angle said toe was growing rapidly.
I phoned the Husband.
Me: “Hi. Is this a good time?”
Husband: “Not really, what’s up?”
Me: “Yeah, I think I may have broken my toe.”
Husband: “Well, get in the car and go to the doctor now.”
Me: “Um. I would, but, you see, I can’t drive. I can’t push the pedals.”
Husband: “Oh hell. I suppose you want me to rescue you?”
Me: “Yes please.”
Before mounting his steed he, of course, shared my tale of misadventure with all of his colleagues. That took some time.
By the time he pulled into the driveway my toe resembled a large purple zucchini.
He peered at the digit and snorted, “I don’t know why I doubted you.”
Doubted me? DOUBTED ME?
I do not make a habit of crying wolf.
I never realised just how badly surfaced our roads are until today.
Usually I am just glad there isn’t a pothole the size of the Grand Canyon in my way, but today I felt every single lump of tarmac in excruciating agony.
I hopped into the doctor’s office.
He benignly looked at me and unsuccessfully tried not to laugh at my misfortune.
Then he asked the question doctors always ask, “What happened?”
What the hell do you think, I broke my toe! Argh! Do you have to have the entire back-story? Can’t you just DO something?
I sat my sulky self down at proffered my foot.
He very gently stroked my toe. “Well” he said conversationally, “We don’t know of it broken or dislocated.”
CRACKLE!
That’s the sound of a medical professional suddenly yanking your swollen toe forward and twisting it around.
POP!
Is the sound a toe makes as it is brutally shoved back into its socket.
As for me.
I was speechless.
Husband wasn’t.
Husband was gasping for breath in between guffaws.
“Very well done,” he gasped, “Very well done.”
Humph.
So, here I sit with my foot elevated at an extraordinary angle freezing my toes in an Arctic glacier.
I am not amused.
The Blurred Line 