So I just looked down and realized that the top two buttons on my shirt had come undone, leaving a gap that descended past bra level. I have no idea how long I've been going around this way.
Not exactly a wardrobe malfunction on a Janet Jackson or Tara Reid scale, but mortifying none the less.
It turns out that the soap under the sheet thing at Mom's house had a perfectly reasonable explanation. Well, aside from the fact that the idea still sounds a little wack. Fark even had a thread about it a couple of weeks ago.
So Mom is vindicated. Hell, I might even try it, since I also get the jimmy leg from time to time.
Is it wrong that I'm a little bit proud of having finally broken my first bone?
Even though my childhood was riddled with so many minor mishaps and stumblefuck maneuvers that my mother dubbed me an Accident Waiting to Happen (this was her second favorite term for me as a child, next to "Snotbox" - a veritable architect of self-esteem, my mom), I always felt like I'd just dabbled; I hadn't really done anything, like, major, other than a couple of sets of stitches in the same spot on my eyebrow within a year of each other. The boys never really seemed to hurt themselves despite their most daredevil inclinations. My sister - hi, Suzi! - was the one who really cornered the market on Serious Maladies growing up - near-drownings, compound arm fractures, pernicious viruses, etc. I just did things on a smaller and somehow more humiliating scale, like running into bricks face-first or spraining my neck while blow-drying my hair. With the snapping of my right-foot little toe, however, I feel like I've finally earned my Advanced Klutz Badge.
Thursday morning I was ironing some Dockers for Bill to wear for his first day at his new job when I realized that it was nearly time for me to leave for work, and I hadn't managed to get dressed yet. As I hustled across the living room toward the stairs, my right foot apparently began to hear the siren song of sharp corners, which my easily-bruised hide can't resist; my wee toe responded by slamming hard into the end of the kitchen wall. I heard two sharp "SNAP!" sounds as it connected, and thought, Uh-oh.
Still, having never broken anything before, at first I told myself I just jammed it. Then I looked down, and noted the cocked angle at which my toe was now sticking out from my foot. Oh. That's not right. Strangely, it didn't hurt much, so I reached down and gently poked at it. The toe wiggled around in directions it had never gone before, and too easily. It felt like a slightly-stale Gummi Worm.
I decided to consult with the resident expert in fractures, and hobbled upstairs to show Wee, who'd been roused out of his loop of denial-snoozing when I yelled OW. He seconded the notion that I had indeed busted it. So, off to the Urgent Care I went (driving the car was interesting). The X-ray confirmed a diagonal break in the second bone of the toe, from the top to the outside. They buddy-taped the toe to its neighbor, which is pretty much all they can do. (The RN who took my info asked me if I wanted to bother with X-rays, when the treatment would be the same regardless of whether it was broken or just sprained. Dude. It's my first broken bone - this is an EVENT. You bet your ass I want X-rays! If I could, I'd have them done daily for the next 6 weeks). I was sent on my way with a lovely foam rubber/Velcro sandal, some crutches - which I don't really need, but hey, FREE CRUTCHES! - and a scrip for Tylenol 3 (party!).
I made it into the office a mere 2-1/2 hours late. The doctor had written me a note and I totally could've scored a day off... My inbox would just have been that much uglier when I returned, though; also, our department was going to a holiday lunch at a semi-fancy Italian place, and hey, FREE FOOD!
When I got home, I found the Dockers sitting on the bed, unworn. Buh! Someone's learning how to do their own ironing from now on. However, that same someone made me a delicious lobster-tail dinner and fetched things for me all night, so it's all good.
All I can say now, with Christmas a mere 2 weeks away and half my list still empty... Thank the sweet birthday-boy Jesus for online shopping.
Note to self: there's a good chance that the type of no-nonsense person who becomes a aerospace mechanical engineer may also be the type who will utterly fail to appreciate why anyone would ever call him a "groove commando".
Clearly, I forgot to take my vitamins today.
The only thing better than getting flowers is getting surprise flowers on an otherwise-uneventful Tuesday evening. Followed by a dinner of 2-inch thick, medium-rare ribeye steaks with sauteed portobello mushrooms and some fancy, rich sauce involving shallots and Cabernet and cream.
So yeah, my husband rocks.