So, yesterday I broke my toe and today it’s black and gross and twice its normal size. It’s Blackened Toe. A delicious low-cal salad prepared by the residents of Borneo.
Anyway, because of the Blackened Toe, I’m limping around my office today, wearing a stablizing brace, under an ACE bandage, under a sock, under a leopard-print slipper. You might think this seems like an awful lot of care and precaution for one small toe. You would be not nearly as crazy as I am, apparently.
The Blackened Toe hurts a lot, but that’s OK, because I’m really enjoying everyone’s reaction to my leopard-print slipper and limp. By which I mean, I’m enjoying the fact that there is no reaction to the leopard-print slipper and limp. It reminds me that I take myself far too seriously at work in general. No one notices anything in an office. I could show up wearing pasties and a cowboy hat, my eye blackened and my front teeth missing, and no one would blink an eye.
Which reminds me of a story. This one time, I had quite a bit to drink and fell off my high heels at a bar in South Boston. I hit the floor face first, as you do, and shattered my glasses frames, cutting my eyebrow and producing an astonishing amount of blood. I had to get four stitches to close up the gash, and I still have a slight scar. My Mom is a nurse, so naturally I had her pals at the emergency room stitch me up. Because they’re real cards, they chose bright blue thread for my stitches. I looked like Frankenpunk.
The following Monday, I went to the office, and no one said a word. Not one word. I was starting to think that it wasn’t as noticeable as I thought, until my coworker Matt remarked, in the most casual manner possible, while preparing his coffee in the break room, that he’d hate to see the other guy.
It was all very Fight Club and a good thing to bear in mind, when I start thinking that everyone is looking at me.