This afternoon, I broke my toe by stubbing it. I was on the phone at the time, giving career advice, believe it or not, to one of the junior editors at my company. I managed not to scream, “Fucking fuckety fuck-fuck aaahhhh!” into the phone, but just barely. Instead, I contorted my whole face, to the point where I was seriously afraid I’d sprain my eyebrows and dislocate my jaw and wind up in full-body traction because of a phone call. Such is my life.
I’ve never been a graceful person. I injure myself about once a year by tripping up the stairs, and my shoelaces are always untied, and I drop things constantly. When I was ten years old, my mother scrimped and saved to send me to figure skating lessons, which I loved. I was one of those crazy horse girls, but even then, allergies kept me on the other side of my plastic bubble from all living creatures, so figure skating lessons were the next best thing, on the girly mock-sport continuum. I learned to skate backwards, and do little spins, and I learned that it is totally possible to break your tailbone in more than one place. As a result, I was the only little figure-skater with a pillow stuffed into my snowpants. I had no idea that this looked strange, but I really wish I had a picture now, because really.
The only upside of this whole toe business is that I now have an excellent excuse to skip the gym. Because I can’t put on any weight on it. So stupid. It’s a little toe. Who knew it was so important?