TOE THE LINE

Last night I made a booboo. I have a clunky old VCR, over 20 years old, on a top shelf in my walk-in closet, and when I was scrounging around looking for something, the recorder fell onto my left big toe, covered only by a sock. On the Flaming Bore Pain Scale, with 1 being a hangnail and 10 being an oversized kidney stone ripping into my gut, this one ranked about an 8. The screaming and carrying on was so loud that it awakened Big Bore, who came dashing into the scene of the accident. He’d also heard the thud of the VCR and thought I’d fallen.

“I’ve broken my big toe!!!” I wailed and explained what happened, while limping into the living room. “Get me the bag of frozen peas, quick!!”

He hustled to get the cold veggie pack for me.

“Here. Prop up your foot.”

I continued moaning--loudly, in my best dramatic flair, working it for all I could. “Ouchy! Ouchy! It hurts!” We removed the sock to make a direct application of the ice--and I was disappointed. The toe was red and purple, but it didn’t look nearly as badly as it felt. I was expecting it to be a bloody pulp flattened into a “toe pancake.” So, I elevated and iced and turned down my suffering a few notches.

The damned toe is still throbbing this morning, but I’ve found an old pair of Nike leather sandals that will work in case regular shoes don’t fit, and I’m ready to drag myself out into the world. If I don’t put on a happy face, BB says he’ll just put me out of my misery--so I have to suck it up, swallow a bunch of pain pills, and get with the program. They shoot horses, don’t they?