Where's your Jazzy?
Yes, that's what has greeted me at work this week. I don't get any slack for a broken toe, nor should I (not with the amount of crap I've dished out over the years.) Does my toe hurt? Yes. I deserve it because I broke it doing something stupid--my own minimal version of the Darwin Awards. I usually walk pretty quickly and this injury is forcing me to stop, go slowly, and smell the roses. I'm enjoying this gentle reminder to take it easy. Just kidding, it's driving me mad.
I'm sick of this silly platform shoe that makes me walk like a clodhopper. I'm tired of trying to find another shoe that is the exact height of the platform so that I don't hobble even more than I should. And I can't believe I have to endure 2-3 more weeks of walking with one foot to the side and wearing almost flats on the other. The next time I want to close the door to the bathroom so that my child isn't cold in the tub I'll remember what 2-3 weeks of flats felt like, and that child can freeze. I tell you...the aggravation!
I couldn't let my self-inflicted fracture to keep me from going to last Saturday's football game at our local college stadium. I even decided to take El Guille, you know, before he decided to go again by himself. Also, it's a more wholesome activity than taking up mother-son dealing (although slightly less lucrative.)
We walked down to the stadium a little more awkwardly than usual (E.G. had a limp due to some trampoline traffic the previous day.) I showed him how to sneak in hot cocoa so we didn't have to buy the inferior product from concessions. I let him buy whatever he wanted: Red Vines, Peanut M&Ms, and kettle corn. Properly sugared up, we loved stomping our feet and yelling with the crowd. We got to the game during the second quarter and made it all the way to the top of the fourth before E.G. let me know, most emphatically, that he was done.
And then we hobbled home.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008