Metal and I do not have a good history for the past couple of years. You may remember Thanksgiving of 2008 I managed to smash a metal pole into my upper lip ending up in a German ER for three stitches. Three stitches that totally changed any thought I ever might have had about botox or anything involving needles and my face. Not doing it again. That hurt and the numbing was way worse than the stitches. Here's a nice picture of me several hours later before I got Julia Roberts lip the next day.
Christmas Eve last year I managed to slam the trunk hatchback from R's Nitro into the top of the bridge of my nose, slicing it nicely. I refused on principle to go to the ER and other than a permanent indention, it's all good. Stitches, smitches.
And today? Today Samantha and her kids came over. R mowed last night, and I hadn't swept the grass off the patio. I decided I really needed to do this after I ended up needing to vacuum every time the kids went out and came back in. In order to get all the grass off (because heaven forbid I miss even one blade), I had to move some stuff around. One of said things was our hammock stand, which we disassembled once we realized it wasn't going to be used much out back due to lack of space, the incredible heat of the sun, and lack of shade in our backyard. We still haven't assembled the trampoline screen, so that box and the box the trampoline came in were both still out there. Since the trampoline box was easy to move, I picked it up and stood it up with the intention of stacking the hammock stand pieces on top of the trampoline screen pieces, and then putting the empty box back down on top.
Well.
The box started to fall towards the kids so without thinking I grabbed for the box which meant the hammock stand pole I was holding dropped - onto my toe. My big toe. My big toe that was still 80% nail-less from the last time I dropped something on it. And that pole did some damage. Somehow I managed not to scream or say any bad words out loud, although a gracious plenty popped onto the tip of my tongue. A gracious plenty indeed. And the pain? Whooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. That was some hurtin', baby.
I hobbled inside and cleaned it up, and while it's a nasty, nasty cut, I think it's okay. I really thought I might have cracked a bone or God forbid need more stitches, but I went to Zumba tonight and managed to make it (modified, of course) through the whole routine, so the bone is fine. My love and respect for metal poles has died a horrible, tragic death.
And, to add insult to injury, I may have turned into my Mom for real, because all I could think about when I hobbled inside was how I really needed to NOT get any blood on the carpet - which used to be my dramatically exclaimation when I was angry with her. It went a little something like this:
Me: "I could be bleeding to death and you'd just tell me not to get blood on the carpet!!!!!!!!!!!"
Mom: (sigh)
The universe: "Blood is hard to get out of carpet, yo."
Me: "I don't care!"
The universe: "But you will one day, cupcake"
Me: "Nuh uh. Not me. I'll never care about blood on the carpet"
The universe: (chuckles) "We'll see...."
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