Owwwww, My Tooooooooeeeeee

I dropped a spoon on my baby toe last night. A spoon. Big deal, right? Not a giant serving spoon, not a spoon rest. Just a spoon with which to eat gobs and gobs of ice cream delicious soup or warm oatmeal.

Freaking fracking frook, it hurt like a mother-something I can't type here. I was just finishing cooking dinner, and after it hit my toe, I mouthed that cannot-be-typed-here word several times at The Man, and then had to go collapse on my beloved big green chair. I couldn't stand, and was incapable of rational thought. It HUUUUUURT. The Man actually had to go finish plating the dinner for me. How sad is that?

Poor Boodle attempted to console me, and was harshly rebuked. Mostly because she was supposed to be cleaning up her crap, and had simply been looking for a way out of it, but still. I felt bad. I HAVE explained to her in the past that when I am in massive pain, I cannot talk or accept condolences right away. Give me space to scream profanities in my head.

Wanna see the damage I did to my poor toe? It's not gross:

It's TERRIBLE, right? I feel your warmth and sympathy for me, I really do.

Look, I know it doesn't look like much, but dude. Blood. Blister. From dropping a spoon. And you can't really tell that it's kinda swollen, too. Sigh. There goes my planned trip shopping at the outlet mall to the gym.