This Little Piggy Cried "wah, wah, wah all the way home!"
That old saying, When it rains, it pours, is so true. For me, the rain is torrential, with hurricaine winds driving it!
I have had a head cold for a little over a week now. Everyone I speak to seems to either have one, or just recovering from one. It's nothing serious, just very unpleasant. You know the kind of cold where your nose won't stop running, and your head feels like it's going to explode? Saturday night, I wanted to go to bed early. I felt drained, and I had a headache.
Earlier in the day, my husband had pulled out his briefcase from under the bed. This is where he keeps all of his income tax papers. It is tax time. He did not however slide it back under the bead. He had left it, standing upright, at the corner of our bed. After doing my nightly bathroom routine, I didn't bother with the light, I could find my way around my house in the dark. Of course, had I known hazards were in my path, I would have opted for a light.
If a woman is walking four miles per hour, and collides with a five pound stationary briefcase what is the force with which her little toe will be driven into the corner of the stationary case? What will be the likely outcome?
The answer? Blinding pain! Sir Isaac Newtons' second law of physics, F=ma. Translated, force equals mass multiplied by acceleration. The net force of an object is equal to the mass of the object multiplied by the acceleration of the object. A simple physics equation really. Simple in theory yes, in reality...not so much.
Upon my husbands briefcase making contact between the toe that had none, and the toe that cried wee, wee, wee all the way home, the force broke my little toe. I didn't confirm my diagnosis with the hospital, but I didn't need a medical degree to know I broke my toe. The odd angle my toe now had was a pretty good indication.
A litany of words were streaming out of my mouth, "Cheese and crackers!" I hobbled out to the living room and examined my foot. I was sitting there when my husband walked in the house. He looked at me and said "I thought you were going to bed early? What are you doing out here?" I proceeded to tell him what happened. He looked at me, and I could see he was trying to hide a smirk. He was trying. I could still see it, so of course I prattled on about his briefcase not being put away, blah, blah, blah. My husband said in a bored, unsympathetic tone "I'm sorry baby." Which, after almost thirty years together, translates to "I'm can't help it if you're a clumsy oaf!"
My husband then turned on the television and proceeded to flip through the channels. "Huh!" I snorted indignantly. "I guess that's that." I stood up, holding my foot at a forty five degree angle so I didn't put any weight on my sore toes. My husband, seeing my gait, suggested to me that I should straighten my foot. I wanted to kick him, or better yet, take his briefcase and jam it between his toes!
I hobbled back to our bedroom, and climbed into bed. The good news, my head no longer hurt anymore. As I tried to get comfortable, my nose continued to run. I had to sit up and blow my nose every few minutes. With every change of position, my toe throbbed. It was a long night.
By the next morning, the top of my foot was swollen and bruised. I limped around all day, cursing that briefcase. My husband was obviously tired of hearing my moans and explatives as I hobbled, because he asked me if I had put ice on my foot. "No..." I said sarcastically. "I did not." To which he replied "Well, if you aren't going to manage your injury, there's nothing I can do to help you." Bastard! He was using my favourite quote against me!
He was right, of course. I should have iced my foot. I could see my husband, although somewhat sympathetic to my injury, was really quite detached.
My husband, while working as a mechanic for thirty years, has had some horrific injuries. He's been blown across the shop when a tire blew up, he has suffered a major carbon monoxide poisoning. So bad that he had to be in the hospital in a hyperbaric chamber for three days to re-oxygenate his blood, caught himself on fire when he was welding, and he has cut his hand so badly at times, he has had to have shunts placed in his arm for IV infusions to fight blood poisoning. Yes, my husband knows trauma. So, I guess my little toe injury is like a paper cut to him.
Last night, I made a delicious lasagna. I took dinner to my husband, as I do every night. I decided to wear my son's sandals, being as my shoes cause significant pain on my sore foot. Don't ever drive in shoes that are too big! Especially sandals! That's all I'm going to say, just don't do it! When I arrived at my husbands' place of work, I had to walk across the driveway, which thanks to all of the rain yesterday, was all mud. Again, another word of warning, don't wear sandals that are too big for you through the mud with a broken toe! My foot was being sucked into the mud. I had flashbacks of Gilligan, yelling "Skipper!" while in quick sand. It was a very unsettling feeling. I finally made my way inside, and found my husband. My walk back to the car involved a lot of grabbing things to prevent my quick sand experience.
All week, I have been a gimpy, snotty mess. Eventually my nose will dry up, and my toe will mend. My pride, however, will take the longest to recover.
I have had a head cold for a little over a week now. Everyone I speak to seems to either have one, or just recovering from one. It's nothing serious, just very unpleasant. You know the kind of cold where your nose won't stop running, and your head feels like it's going to explode? Saturday night, I wanted to go to bed early. I felt drained, and I had a headache.
Earlier in the day, my husband had pulled out his briefcase from under the bed. This is where he keeps all of his income tax papers. It is tax time. He did not however slide it back under the bead. He had left it, standing upright, at the corner of our bed. After doing my nightly bathroom routine, I didn't bother with the light, I could find my way around my house in the dark. Of course, had I known hazards were in my path, I would have opted for a light.
If a woman is walking four miles per hour, and collides with a five pound stationary briefcase what is the force with which her little toe will be driven into the corner of the stationary case? What will be the likely outcome?
The answer? Blinding pain! Sir Isaac Newtons' second law of physics, F=ma. Translated, force equals mass multiplied by acceleration. The net force of an object is equal to the mass of the object multiplied by the acceleration of the object. A simple physics equation really. Simple in theory yes, in reality...not so much.
Upon my husbands briefcase making contact between the toe that had none, and the toe that cried wee, wee, wee all the way home, the force broke my little toe. I didn't confirm my diagnosis with the hospital, but I didn't need a medical degree to know I broke my toe. The odd angle my toe now had was a pretty good indication.
A litany of words were streaming out of my mouth, "Cheese and crackers!" I hobbled out to the living room and examined my foot. I was sitting there when my husband walked in the house. He looked at me and said "I thought you were going to bed early? What are you doing out here?" I proceeded to tell him what happened. He looked at me, and I could see he was trying to hide a smirk. He was trying. I could still see it, so of course I prattled on about his briefcase not being put away, blah, blah, blah. My husband said in a bored, unsympathetic tone "I'm sorry baby." Which, after almost thirty years together, translates to "I'm can't help it if you're a clumsy oaf!"
My husband then turned on the television and proceeded to flip through the channels. "Huh!" I snorted indignantly. "I guess that's that." I stood up, holding my foot at a forty five degree angle so I didn't put any weight on my sore toes. My husband, seeing my gait, suggested to me that I should straighten my foot. I wanted to kick him, or better yet, take his briefcase and jam it between his toes!
I hobbled back to our bedroom, and climbed into bed. The good news, my head no longer hurt anymore. As I tried to get comfortable, my nose continued to run. I had to sit up and blow my nose every few minutes. With every change of position, my toe throbbed. It was a long night.
By the next morning, the top of my foot was swollen and bruised. I limped around all day, cursing that briefcase. My husband was obviously tired of hearing my moans and explatives as I hobbled, because he asked me if I had put ice on my foot. "No..." I said sarcastically. "I did not." To which he replied "Well, if you aren't going to manage your injury, there's nothing I can do to help you." Bastard! He was using my favourite quote against me!
He was right, of course. I should have iced my foot. I could see my husband, although somewhat sympathetic to my injury, was really quite detached.
My husband, while working as a mechanic for thirty years, has had some horrific injuries. He's been blown across the shop when a tire blew up, he has suffered a major carbon monoxide poisoning. So bad that he had to be in the hospital in a hyperbaric chamber for three days to re-oxygenate his blood, caught himself on fire when he was welding, and he has cut his hand so badly at times, he has had to have shunts placed in his arm for IV infusions to fight blood poisoning. Yes, my husband knows trauma. So, I guess my little toe injury is like a paper cut to him.
Last night, I made a delicious lasagna. I took dinner to my husband, as I do every night. I decided to wear my son's sandals, being as my shoes cause significant pain on my sore foot. Don't ever drive in shoes that are too big! Especially sandals! That's all I'm going to say, just don't do it! When I arrived at my husbands' place of work, I had to walk across the driveway, which thanks to all of the rain yesterday, was all mud. Again, another word of warning, don't wear sandals that are too big for you through the mud with a broken toe! My foot was being sucked into the mud. I had flashbacks of Gilligan, yelling "Skipper!" while in quick sand. It was a very unsettling feeling. I finally made my way inside, and found my husband. My walk back to the car involved a lot of grabbing things to prevent my quick sand experience.
All week, I have been a gimpy, snotty mess. Eventually my nose will dry up, and my toe will mend. My pride, however, will take the longest to recover.
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