It's been a while since I posted so I thought I'd relate my tale of Christmas pain and suffering.
No Not Al Gore.
So many years ago, when I was still living with my mother, and my older sister (not my oldest sister, nor my middle older sister) had married and moved away, the holidays rolled around and her and hubby were coming home for a visit, arriving on Christmas Eve, no less.
So we cleaned and prepped the house and did everything to make it perfect.
And as they pulled up, there came an oh too familiar sound of a yacking cat. From the freshly shampoo'd carpets in the living room, in front of the big ol' desk that used to belong to my Grandfather.
Thinking quickly, I ran and scooped up the cat and spun around to carry said barfing feline into the kitchen (because linoleum cleans up easier then carpet) when the Vile and Evil desk, lept into my path and crushed my little toe!
Much hollering, cursing and cat barfing followed.
and I spent the rest of the day limping about, and swearing at the cat.
Christmas day rolled around and the foot had swollen to the point where I couldn't get a shoe on, heck I couldn't get a sock on it!. (This being Maryland, and back before Global Warming, so it was pretty freaking cold out).
I found my way down to the local urgent care clinic and a few xrays later, I was told that I had not, in fact. broken my little toe. I'd broken the bones behind the toe, and how the hell was I standing on it?
So for Christmas, I got an ankle cast and a warm little toe bootie.
The cat got to live.
Aren't you glad you looked below the cut?
To my friend: Good luck with your injury! I hope it is as minor as mine should have been!