Assholery and Absentia

My entire life, I’ve been a complete klutz. Klutzuz Maximus.

The running joke in my family is that if there’s a stray electrical cord anywhere in the house, my foot will find it.  It’s not much of an overstatement.

I have broken one of my toes (left foot, the one next to the pinkie, if you are interested) four times.  One of those times, it was the night before an early departure to London for a week’s vacation.  Another time, it was two days before a ski trip at the $%$$ Ritz Carlton in Beaver Creek.

Clearly, my toes are averse to travel.  I’ve broken two toes on my other foot, as well, but they don’t seem to have the sadistic timing of that fucker on the left. The Fucker Toe now looks like some gnarled piece of wood or–now that I think of it–a ginger root.

I should be embarrassed by my Ginger-Root Toe, but I’m so vindictive that I think it has earned the right to be that ugly.  I display it in my summer flip-flops with pride.

Oddly, aside from toes, I’ve never broken any other bone in my body.  Clumsy creature that I am, how is that possible?  Well, readers, it’s simple. I hate sports. Sports are…anathema.  I suckity suck at every sport except swimming, and it’s hard to break a limb bobbing around in the pool. I’m an indoor girl. I spent my childhood summers on the couch, reading voraciously, snacks by my side. It was heaven. I’ve been on the couch ever since.

As vexing as my toe-cracking has been, I’m a lucky duck. Consider the collateral damage– Hubs: 2 broken arms. Awesome Stepkid R. : 3 broken arms…extra points for having 2 broken arms simultaneously (Hello, awkward!)  Daddy-O: 2 broken legs. Mama: several broken toes and broken ribs. Even our aged, piss-happy Harryboy has broken something.

Crazy thing is, the one person I am 100% sure deserves a broken limb–Miss D.–hasn’t had one. That girl is a dervish. Tornado Alley. Miss D. falls or crashes into something at least three times a day.  She runs on edges of pools, flips on trampolines, rides scooters and bicycles with Lance Armstrong verve. Her body is covered with so many bruises and scars and band aids that there’s hardly any skin showing.

Miss M. is not a dervish. She’s a softer child; the kind who hangs around the edges at the playground for a while before engaging. Unlike her sister, she knows fear. M. is not the child I envision earning frequent flyer miles at the E.R.

We got our initiation this week.

Of course, she couldn’t break her arm in any normal fashion, so she had to go to a special hospital and get special surgery and, as you can see, a very special cast. She’s channeling her inner Seuss, ja?

This is why you haven’t seen my snarky ass around lately.  Between veterinarian visits for The Pisser and E.R./hospital visits for Miss M., this ass has been in a waiting room. Or seven.

I feel so sad for M.–it’s a bummer time to be rockin’ a full arm cast. Little Minx isn’t bitter about it yet, but I can feel it a-comin’.  It’s sucks to spend summer days without sprinklers.

I’m just grateful that it happened this week, because in a few days, hubs and I leave for our second honeymoon. The one we wanted to take on our 10th wedding anniversary, and then on our 11th anniversary, but it didn’t happen. Life and work and the damned dollar get in the way sometimes.

We depart Monday, and I’m really hoping that I don’t come down with some dreaded disease or fall victim to the Sadistic Toe.  I’ll miss you all terribly–my goal is to be mostly unplugged for the week, so I can actually enjoy this guy I’m married to. Jeez, can you imagine? What the Hell has gotten into me?

I hope the coming week brings you joy, and I can’t wait to see you when I return. Because you know there’s gonna be a story in it, right?  As Mama loves to say, “With you, there’s always something…”

Hugs, kisses and Mai Tai’s,

TKW

Love to you all, and I wish you a week of unbroken things and sunny days.

Tagged as: broken arms, hellacious weeks, klutzy people, the fucker toe, vindictive toes, wtf?