My Poor Toe

I broke my toe the other night. Yes, I was barefoot as usual - no I was not drunk!

Did I get any sympathy from the grumpy old man? No I did not! I staggered in theatrically to where he was sitting - in a ‘Ooooh, ow, ow, ow, yeeeouch!’ kind of way.

He didn't even look up from what he was reading, he just said,
‘What did you do it on this time? I bet you've woke the neighbours up.’

W***er!!

This question was asked I suppose as I'd stubbed my toe - it may even have been the same one, it was certainly the same foot - only a few nights before in roughly the same position but going in the other direction.

My poor toe is now many shades of purple, blue and green and as well as throbbing it's started itching! You'd think I'd be used to it by now as this is my fifth toe break. ooowwww, I forgot and just stretched my feet.

I think I may start to feel mardy if I don't get some sympathy soon ... Nope, none forthcoming, I've even exaggerated my limp but had to stop because it hurt more. Still no ... ‘Oh you poor thing, I'll bring you a cup of tea and don't bother standing there cooking dinner, let me kiss it better for you,’ [well maybe not the last bit]. No, all I got was ...

‘Well at least you can still work.’

T***er!

As you can see, I'm on toe number 2 now, having previously broken toes 1, 6, 9 and 10. My advice is if you're going to break a toe, break any but your big ones as it hurts a lot and is much more difficult to walk. The first one I broke was toe number 6 [big right]. It was a nightmare, as then [in the olden days of yore] I walked half a mile to work. Not, I'll grant you to do much actual work when I got there, but I attended [Aristoc warehouse]. Then, after hobbling around making a lot of fuss about nothing - apparently, no sympathy there either - I limped half a mile back home ... uphill, in the frost and snow. Yes it was winter and [where's the tiny writing button?- oh there it is] Ahem, alcohol may have been ever so slightly involved in misjudging how far I'd got to swing my leg around a snoozing labrador, thereby managing to kick a door frame.

My elbows are also living in ‘the danger zone’, they have permanent bruises, and my most well used phrase [directed at door frames] is ‘who put that there?’ If I'm that bad at home, can you imagine my life in a caravan? It's not exactly a small one - 35'x12' - just big enough for a couple of grumpies and a psycho cat to rattle around in, but the door frames are something else! I have endless conversations with them about their apparent ability to change size just as I'm about to go through them. Please don't tell me I'm the only person who talks to door frames ... er and walls.

I suppose I'm fortunate that most of my bones are well padded with blubber because I've not broken any others. Ah ... yes, ribs. Oddly enough, for a chunky person my ribs are a bit sticky outy and last year I slipped getting out of the bath and fell on the side of it with my ribs, ouch!

Did I get any sympathy?? - No. I just received instructions on the correct way to get out of the bath - this from someone who has only a fleeting relationship with the aforementioned bath [preferring showers]. My ribs still hurt now when I touch them. But ‘don't worry about me, I'll be alright’ [my second most used phrase] I'll try to be brave and not go on about it ...