“Daddy?” MLI said, from the top of the stairs. “We’re coming downstairs to watch some cartoons before bed because the TV up in your room is broken.”
Looking up from the floor where I sat folding laundry, “Broken? Hold on, let me come look at it. And don’t come down here! I just mopped and the floor is very slippery!”
Sighing as I placed the clothes in my hand back into the laundry basket, I tiptoed across the freshly mopped floor that was the result of the evening’s earlier Gingerbread Men Icing-fest and then headed up the stairs.
Once upstairs, I confirmed that the TV wasn’t broken; it was just showing the picture in black and white. Knowing this could mean only one thing, I wiggled A/V wires until, sure enough, the color returned.
“Yeaah Daddy!” CareerMom exclaimed.
I bowed, and then headed out the bedroom door, grabbing glasses and other items to return to the kitchen as I went.
Thinking about the twenty things I still needed to do before MY bedtime, I hurried down the stairs.
I stepped down off the last carpeted step onto the freshly mopped linoleum floor and WHOOOOOOPS! Out went my feet from under me! The many various items in my hands went flying across the kitchen and my feet went straight out in front of me! With a gi-normous “THUD!” I hit the ground.
CareerMom, having heard the noise and expecting the worst, came flying down the stairs.
“Are you OK?” Did you hurt your back?”
By this time I had rolled over onto my hands and knees. Rather than just hopping up and exclaiming, “I’m fine…nothing to see here,” like I would have ten years ago, I patiently remained nearly motionless as I took a physical inventory.
Mentally talking to myself:
“Back hurting? No.”
“Butt hurts though.”
“Why does my foot hurt? Man, that hurts like hell!”
I slowly got up and cavalierly tried to wave off CareerMom, “I’m OK.” Then, I took a step and “OUCH!”
I looked down at my foot and could see the swelling coming on. As near as I can tell without going to see a Doctor (which I’m not going to do), I, at the very least, strained some ligaments from my big toe up to my ankle. I’m not sure how one falls on his tailbone, yet torques his toe as if he’d stubbed it, but I somehow managed it.
I iced it and went to bed, only to be woken up around 2:45 with a throbber (my foot gentlemen…my foot!). I downed some “Migraine Strength” Excedrin (with caffeine as I was to find out) and laid on the couch the rest of the night and into the morning.
It’s not broken, that’s for sure. I can walk on the left side of my (left) foot pretty well, but if I put any weight on the toe portion, it’s NIAGRA FALLS!
Yeah, “Yeaah Daddy!” Graceful as a gazelle!
2 thoughts on “He was in the prime of his life; but, it was the housecleaning that did him in…”
Oh man, that is so completely not fair for such a thing to happen when you’re in the process of doing all that other crappy stuff that needs doing.
Someone suggested I have a playdate with like 6 or 10 kids and we could all make gingerbread houses here at my house. And I was like, whoa, that bitch must really hate me!
Your injury has convinced me that I should consider never mopping the floor again. Screw it. I’m thinking tomorrow you should do nothing but eat chocolate and buy yourself gifts on-line.
I now firmly believe that mopping, in a addition to eating a whole batch of adorable gingerbread men, is harzardous to your health.