May 31, 2005
So I invited The Boy out to meet my parents this weekend. After work on Saturday, we drove out to Whitewater, stopped in town for lunch, indulged in a couple of drinks and made our way out to The Lake. I had not seen my folks in quite a few weeks and was rather anxious (accompanied by a touch of apprehension for the episode of 'Boy Meets Parental Units').To my surprise, it was not awkward. The initial meeting and greeting seemed to slip over us all so easily that the only emotion welled up inside of me after I granted my parentals a hug was a great sensation of enthusiam. I was over joyed to be back out at The Lake, surrounded by the people who fill my life with love and eager to relax in the hands of such intensely convivial company.
If only I could have kept my clumsy ass out of trouble, I'm sure they would have been able to enjoy my company as well...
We were lounging on my parent's new pontoon boat, still docked to the pier, enjoying a couple of cocktails, when my father suggested that I run up to the house in order to use the bathroom before taking the boat out for a spin. In all of my excitement, I began to immediately sprint after exiting the starboard side of the boat. Unfortunately, the tiles on the pier weren't crazy about all the commotion my thumping feet were making and suddenly decided to bend and bow in order to take a nice chunk of Big Toe with them.
Yes, that's right - I somehow managed to get my flippin' toe caught between the tiles on the pier.
Fortunately, I was able to keep up my pace, while wincing with absolute agony, until I reached the stairs to the deck. Just as I skipped up the steps and pulled the door open to the house, I noticed a small pool of dark liquid form upon the green and white door mat that resides in the porch.
Uh oh.
"Musn't. Bleed. Mom's. Carpet," is all I can recall thinking at that particular moment. I hooked my head around the door and saw the bathroom just down the way. So close, yet so far... I thought I could make it, if only I hopped on foot and craddled my hand under the bloody mass that once was my Big Toe.
*sigh*
I rejected that thought, hobbled down to the bottom of the steps and attempted, in vain, to wipe up the mess with various natural objects of the outdoors. I started off by wiping my toe on the grass but this gesture, combining grass with gritty dirt and blood, only encouraged a sharp 'YELP' upon contact. I snatched a leaf from one of Mom's plants and attempted to blot the wound but this only seemed to smudge it around and make it more difficult to determine where the damned gash was even located. Not to mention that the leaf was probably filled with a substance opposite of that of a healing aloe and would surely make my toe turn purple and fall off instantaniously.
Well...
Anyhow, I quickly tossed the leaf to the side of the steps, tried to cover it as though Mom would surely disown me for having mangled one of her 75 precious plants and squeeled out to The Boy that I needed some assistance. It wasn't long before he procurred some paper towel from the house. The look of sheer disgust in his eyes accompanied by the slight shiver of his shoulders told me that it was a fairly nasty lasceration. He helped me blot the wound until, finally, my parents joined me at the steps to check out what was all the fuss.
"Laura! What did you do?!?" cried Mom, as though I thought it would be a barrell of laughs to spill pints of Toe Blood all about the back yard.
"Um, I didn't want to bleed on your carpet," I smiled innocently in reply.
She somehow convinced me to hop to the bathroom and I sat down on the wooden seated toilet. She placed a white rag beneath my foot and reached behind her for the bottle of Peroxide always located in the middle drawer of our bathroom bureau. Well, it's almost always located there...
She poured a thick liquid substance over my toe which instantly turned red and didn't foam and...
Wait. A thick substance?! That didn't foam?!
Please take a moment to imagine my squeel of sheer agony when I realized that my mother had just poured a half a bottle Robistussen all over my gashed up, mangled toe. It wasn't good when I was ten and sick in bed and it sure as HELL wasn't feeling good then, either.
Lucky for me, cocktail hour had commenced at an early hour. Unlucky for me, it had also commenced at an early hour for my dear mother...
We were all of us laughing in absolute hysterics at this point and completely incapable of rectifying the situation with a timely manner of care. Father made the comment that at least I would not awake that night to a coughing toe and Mother insisted that I leave out any mention of her on any online blogs that I might belong to...
Well, Ma, that's what you get for having poured ROBITUSSEN all over my pierced f'ing flesh.