I was just over browsing at Lit Soup (I know, I know, I should get back to work. But I'm just coming off vacation and it's a little tough getting back into the full swing, so allow me this for now.) and the latest post was about Jenny running over her foot with her chair. That got me to thinking about the numerous weird ways I've hurt myself over the years. And, believe me, there are many. A lot involve broken bones - mostly toes, but other various body parts as well - and several have left interesting scars. I know I can't possibly remember them all, but here are a few of my more memorable moments.
1. I broke two toes (baby toe and ring toe) making the bed.
2. I broke the same two toes losing my balance while rising from a chair.
3. Broke my nose playing water tag when I was twelve
4. Fractured my left middle finger in two places wrestling with my brother when I was twelve (it was a rough year - did I mention I'm left-handed?)
5. Fractured my left pinky trying to save a cassette tape from being eaten by my stereo
6. Got a black eye when my daughter whacked me with her f****** sippy cup
7. Sprained my ankle falling off a curb on the way to the subway after seeing the Rolling Stones - I swear I hadn't had a drop to drink - must've been the pot in the air - you could almost see it.
8. I received a concussion in a snowmobiling accident - I won't go into details, but I will kill my daughter if she ever does the same thing.
9. Almost shattered my left ankle (maybe it's the right, I have to look for the scar) while riding double on a bicycle - my foot got sucked into the spokes. I've blocked it out, which is why I have to look for the scar. This also carries the death penalty in my house - riding double, that is.
10. Cut my left index finger almost to the bone at my bridal shower, opening a box of towels from Macy's. No exaggeration, I thought I'd pass out from the blood. Ick.
11. Yup, broke the same damn toes (that's three times so far) trying to keep the cat out of the basement.
12. Fell off the hood of a car
13. Nearly blinded myself with sand by falling off monkeybars when I was in grade school.
See? And my daughter wonders why she can't walk two feet without tripping over something. My husband's just as bad and the surprising thing is that we're both pretty athletic. He's a former football and baseball player and I lived with a tennis raquet in my hand. Yet I trip over nothing. Two left feet doesn't even begin to describe it.
It's a wonder I haven't killed myself.
What about you?
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