Wednesday, October 7, 2015
I didn't go to the doctor, though, because I'm well aware that nothing can be done for a stubbed pinky toe. There would be no teeny-tiny little pink cast for my friends to sign if it were broken, and there would be a $25 co-pay I would regret spending if it were not broken.
Also, I did not want to have to try to explain to the doctor how the injury occurred. ("Well, see, Doctor, I was changing my clothes and while I was putting my foot into my jeans I got distracted by something on a shelf, and I forgot I was only standing on one foot and I leaned forward to see what was on the shelf but then I lost my balance and fell over and while I was falling I smashed the top of that toe into the side of the closet door, so it wasn't really a stub, it was more of a top-smash....")
For the first couple days after the injury I was one miserable, whiny puppy.As long as I was barefoot walking wasn't too bad but the second I put on shoes the toe made its swollen presence felt in a most unpleasant fashion. I hopped up and down stairs (which, if you haven't seen this spectacle...) but mostly I just complained to Husband about how much it huuuuuurrrrrt. Finally I discovered that as long as nothing was touching the top of the toe it really didn't hurt so much, so I took to wearing a pair of L.L. Beans sandals with the strap on that area of my foot let out to its fullest.
Today, though, was the city spelling bee. I was the pronouncer on this second-best day of the year, and I was not going to spoil the solemnity of the occasion by wearing L.L.Bean sandals. Only black shoes would be appropriately distinguished with the black skirt I would be wearing. I have many, many pairs of black shoes--surely one of them would be serviceable.
I went to my closet and began trying on the black shoes. The first pair did not feel so good; suddenly I recalled some of the words I had made up a month ago. The second one would have been fine, assuming I was looking for something that gave the impression with every step that my toe was being nailed back on with a nail gun. The same with the third pair, and the fourth. (I wasn't kidding when I said I had a lot of black shoes.)
Finally I slid my foot into the last pair in the closet, and hey, these didn't seem so bad. They had a stretchy panel on the side with some give for the poor abused pinky toe, and in the dim light of the closet they seemed just fine.
It wasn't until I was hurrying into the spelling bee (late, as usual) that I looked down at my feet. The shoes that had been just one more pair of black shoes in the closet were quite clearly, in the bright light of day, navy blue and not black.
So for those of you who are keeping score, that means that in three days I have walked through the parking lot with the hem of my skirt tucked into my waistband, and have worn non-matching shoes. I'm not sure I should be allowed to dress myself any more.
New word, new word, new word.
Posted by MomQueenBee at 2:45 PM