Today Loren and I decided we were going to try walking a couple times a week in order to get some exercise. We walked for about an hour and it was wonderful. It was after the morning rain and the air smelled so fresh and invigorating. I was very much looking forward to the next opportunity to walk with my baby. But then, once again, fate intervened.....
Later in the day, in the process of responding to my eleven-year-old's screams of anger from her room that the dog had gotten in and pooped on her floor, I became injured. Yes, I tripped on the wooden stairs and in the process ripped the toenail right off the big toe of my right foot. Completely pulled it off. The odd thing was, I stood there staring at it in disbelief, sort of disembodied. What the heck? My toenail? Really? Are you kidding me?! Interestingly enough, it never really hurt except for putting my foot in cold water to slow the flow of blood. My wonderful sixteen-year-old daughter ran to Walgreen's for medical supplies so that my sweet man could the play role of doctor and bandage my toe for me (he says he can do this because he stayed at a Holiday Inn Express). So now here I sit, blogging about my exploits of my wounded appendage. I wonder if the rapture would have been easier?
That happened to me once -- second toe on my right foot. I was at work, wearing sandals, and the bottom of the restroom door scraped across my foot and took the nail right off. Gross, right? Well, it did finally grow back, but it's thicker and more difficult to cut than the other nails. But when they're polished, I dare you to choose the funky one. Hey, you asked. Well, no you didn't, I guess. :)
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