Yesterday the cleaning bug bit me in the butt and I felt it was proper to vacuum the floor since bits of paper and nuts and berries had made their way there to disturb me. I was trying very hard to have the house semi-clean for Dear Sir when he came home. He likes that. By the time I got myself into the sun room I was pretty mad because vacuuming always has that effect on me, and guess what I did? I pulled the vacuum back in a quick jerk to move it a little to the left and I delightfully pulled back on my big toe's nail. If anyone knows me at all, there are two places on my body that make me a madwoman if I am touched there: On a toe nail or under my chin. I have yelled at a few people in my life that have encountered my toe nail, and I have slapped many men in my life who have run their finger under my chin. Get BACK. So, I pretty much ruined my toe nail.
I called Dear Sir right away after I laid prostrate for a spell yelping in pain (I almost said the "sh" word, but maybe said the British version instead because I suddenly went insane---all that British blood in me), remembering that we had only a few small rainbow band-aids. He calmly aided me and my wound over the phone and directed me to some normal band-aids! I could not believe it! That man has it going on, I swear. He said, "On top of the manila envelopes in the office, there are two band-aids." How this has ever gotten past me, I don't know, but I put them on directly saying, "I am not sure these are going to cover it!"
"I will buy you more band-aids on my way home," he said.
"What should I do now with my toe? I mean, the band-aids are not enough. It is all loose. I know. I will wrap some duct tape around my toe."
"Don't do that...that's crazy."
"I'll make it look pretty. I have no choice."
"Isn't there some gauze somewhere or something? I'll be home soon. Just sit down and quit doing stuff."
I hobbled over to the junk drawer and pulled out some clear packing tape. I proceeded to wrap it around the band-aids to keep the wound intact. Stupidly, all I could think about was running. How maybe I could bind the wound enough so the pressure of running would be minimal tomorrow when I would step on that stupid treadmill. Now that's dedication, brothers and sisters.
When Dear Sir got home I was making tortillas. He came in all bright and happy (the house was clean) and he greeted me. He got on the computer and replied to some emails, read the news. I walked over to him with flour all over my front and said, "You forgot the band-aids, didn't you?"
"Just forget it. It is all under control now."
"No, no way, you will need them," he looked down at my toe wrapped in packing tape. He started to get up. He felt around on his front pocket like he was feeling for a wallet or keys, and then got up a little, sat down. "I'll go directly after dinner."
"No. I will go directly after dinner."
When he got home he handed me the band-aids. "I got two different kinds. I wasn't sure."
"Thanks," I said.
"And I got you something else," he started to dig in the bag, under a box of tissues. He pulled out a 3Musketeers, my favorite candy bar. (For years, he has never gotten it right. He would always buy me a Snickers and say, "I thought your favorite was this!" Whenever I eat a Snickers I always get a rotten peanut.)
I grabbed it, jumped up and down and said, "I bought myself one today, now I have two! YES!"
The kids immediately felt jealous seeing that I got a candy bar and they didn't. "Hey---" the Oldest said.
"Your mom got hurt and you always need something to cheer you up when that happens, " Dear Sir said.
I think he is starting to get it, friends.