I Am a Klutz
Nov. 29th, 2007 10:52 amLet me tell you how much.
Last night, I walk into the kitchen. Nin is using one side of our very small area to finish her 'boozy balls', so I edge too far over to the right, where I promptly catch my foot in the empty glass bottles waiting to be taken out. Bottles, including the jumbo size wine bottle types, fall in a domino effect all over my foot. My foot that is only clad in a slipper. It hurt! Then the hurt want away, and I basically forgot about it. Till 2am this morning when the pain in my foot actually woke me up. Except I'd forgotten the bottles, and couldn't figure out how I could hurt my foot asleep in bed. This morning, I get up, go into the kitchen, hobbling on my sore foot, see the bottles, and, duh!!! So I carefully got my foot into its hiking boot, and made my painful way the 3/4 mile to work. Actually, being in the boot helps, though I know after the walk home, I'm going to hate it when I take it off. Now the pain is radiating up to my knee and just generally pulsating.
That is my tale of klutzy woe. Is sad, no?
Last night, I walk into the kitchen. Nin is using one side of our very small area to finish her 'boozy balls', so I edge too far over to the right, where I promptly catch my foot in the empty glass bottles waiting to be taken out. Bottles, including the jumbo size wine bottle types, fall in a domino effect all over my foot. My foot that is only clad in a slipper. It hurt! Then the hurt want away, and I basically forgot about it. Till 2am this morning when the pain in my foot actually woke me up. Except I'd forgotten the bottles, and couldn't figure out how I could hurt my foot asleep in bed. This morning, I get up, go into the kitchen, hobbling on my sore foot, see the bottles, and, duh!!! So I carefully got my foot into its hiking boot, and made my painful way the 3/4 mile to work. Actually, being in the boot helps, though I know after the walk home, I'm going to hate it when I take it off. Now the pain is radiating up to my knee and just generally pulsating.
That is my tale of klutzy woe. Is sad, no?