Friday, September 12, 2014

Because Val Never Does Anything Nice and Easy

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?


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! 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 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.


  1. Once again...Bubble Girl! Or at least bubble wrap.

  2. Ouch! I hate it when I catch my little toe on something. Something so small should not hurt so bad!

  3. The first two days of school, I rammed my left pinkie toe into the leg of an old wheelie chair--three times--and ended up jamming it/breaking it. Now it's like a big pink sausage and is STILL uncooperative when it comes to putting on some shoes.

    A smarter woman would have moved the chair after the first time. A semi-smart woman would have moved the chair after the second time. The chair is STILL there.

    What does that make me?

  4. Few things hurt more than banging that darn little toe. Maybe the big toe should be on the other side to take the abuse, even though that would look funny.

  5. I'm thinking Hick may be able to get you a pair of steel-toed shoes at some auction.

  6. joeh,
    I think we already established that bubble wrap would lead to my demise, due to my boys stomping on me just to hear those bubbles pop. So grab your Trivial Pursuit, pull a chair up to my bubble, and let's get this Moopfest underway. Here. Have a bottle of YooHoo.

    I don't consider it so much "catching" my little toe on something as "pulverizing it to smithereens."

    Sioux, did not catch my Tina Turner reference in the title? You're slipping, Madam! I suppose you bumped your head on an old wheelie chair. So I am going to answer your possibly hypothetical question with: brain damaged?

    Speaking of wheelie chairs...what is that one made of, anyway? LEAD? Because most wheelie chairs will roll away when rammed. Wait! I forgot that you are constructed of gossamer and moonbeams. No match for a wheelie chair. Maybe you should hang a spiderweb hammock for your seating needs.

    I suppose you've been wearing the Crocs again...

    What a scathingly brilliant idea! If you decide to become a toe transplant surgeon to further this dream, I shall keep a stack of your business cards on the counter of my proposed handbasket factory.

    I'm thinking that if he did, I would not be eager to wear them. He could make a thingy for his Little Barbershop of Horrors out of them. You know. A thingy to fill with blue water and hold his combs and scissors.

  7. I of course caught the reference (their version of "Proud Mary" is on my class playlist, along with Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" and BB King's "The Thrill is Gone" and Doris Troy's "Just One Look" and Sly's "Everyday People" and George Benson's "On Broadway," along with a few more. We sing songs and dance for our transitions.)

    I caught that reference that was lobbed my way, but was fixated on my still-tender toe. Now the only shoes I CAN wear comfortably are my Crocs and my Croc-knockoffs.

  8. Sioux,
    Maybe you could market your Croc-off in an orthopedic version. Kind of like that walking boot thing for broken feet. I'd give you space on the counter of my proposed handbasket factory if you want to set up a display.