Hey! You know those sproingy spring things you screw into the baseboard area to stop the door from banging the doorknob through the wall? Door stops, I think they're called. Not the wedge kind that are at a premium in public schools, stolen every day in walk-by hall-liftings if you don't engrave your name into the side. No, I'm talking about the home kind. The gold or silver white-rubber-ended sproingy spring things. Yeah. You know what's funny about them?
THEY ARE REALLY NOT ALL THAT FLEXIBLE!
It's true. They are not nearly as flexible as an adult baby toe. They're not! Just last evening, I made that discovery. Who knew? Not my baby toe, that's for sure.
I might not have found out, except the temperature was scheduled to drop into autumn digits last night. So I rigged our cheap thermostat for HEAT, and set the temp at 69 degrees. Funny thing, the blower kept blowing, even though the house temperature was 72. I knew it couldn't be the air condition, because COOL was set for 78 while we were at work. It defied the laws of physics, that heat pump!
So...as I came out of the closet (perhaps I could find a way to phrase that differently in case a journalism student from NYU is lurking in the next booth eavesdropping on my blog post) with my comfy clothes, I stuck my foot over the bathroom floor vent to see if it was blowing hot air or cold air or stale air.
I never really found out what air was blowing, because my baby toe lost a game of chicken with the gold white-rubber-ended sproingy spring thing. That baby toe was as flexible as a Romanian gymnast. Like it didn't have a bone inside the skin. Or like the bone inside the skin found a new angle to hang at. Like the pinky finger on Denzel Washington's right hand. You can have your fact-checker Google that if you doubt me.
You know that long moment when you commit some calamity with a toe or foot, when you know you're hurt, but there's that time lapse while the dendrites release their neurotransmitters to the axon and...well...no time for a biology lesson now. Let's just suffice to say that you know the pain is coming, but it takes a while to feel it? Uh huh. That's what happened. I went ahead and hollered, because I knew I would want to. What I didn't want to do was look at my baby toe. Even though it was in a sock, I did not want to see if it stuck out like a hitchhiker's thumb.
I still haven't looked. No use crying over pooled blood and possible dislocation. Whining, yes. Crying, no. I figure if it fits in the shoe, it must be salvageable.
I really didn't seem to have so many physical faux pas until I started taking this blood thinner. I might be half a quart low.