Off The Beaten Path: A Little Wine Makes My Toes Curl!
As I write this column on yet another cold and snowy Sunday morning (we’ve had lots of those thus far this winter), Christmas has been over for 3.75 weeks. I know this because I have also been knocked down with a broken/smashed toe for 3.75 weeks. Trust me, everyone who knows me is also very aware of my injured digit.
Let’s rewind a bit, roll the tape, boys… Oops, you went too far, back it up a bit, perfect. The bedecking and hollying of the halls was a little late for our humble abode. In fact, my family started to question on whether we would actually get a Christmas tree up at all. We finally got the tree up decorated seven days before the jolly old man was due to cursor through the skies. Two days before Christmas my son assembled and put out a lighted snowman and my Snoopy and Woodstock figure on the snow-covered lawn. It was time for everything to be merry and bright.
Well, at least there was lots of brightness – not so sure about the merry! Ok, rewind again… Christmas Eve and Day were actually wonderful days spent with family creating fantastic memories. There was love, laughter, food and presents galore. And then “it” occurred on Christmas night, the event that made my toes curl and caused me to utter a bloodcurdling scream that still haunts my husband and son.
We were watching some new movies on TV and ogling our new treasures when I decided it was time to raid the refrigerator and nosh on some of my Mom’s delicious pretzel salad. I opened the door and wham, bam, thank-you Ma’m – I felt something hit my foot and I started to wail in agony! I was holding my foot and half-crawling to a chair when I spied the culprit that had caused my acute pain and suffering – a bottle of wine. Oh the irony – I don’t drink any alcohol and I had just been felled by a bottle of booze.
I sat on that chair for twenty minutes, rocking back and forth and howling and crying and moaning. I wasn’t faking as I had tears streaming down my face. The more my husband tried to console me, the harder I sobbed and shrieked, “Let me alone, just leave me alone.” Wisely, he left me alone, after uncorking a 24 oz. bottle of Pepsi for me. My brother-in-law Brian had gifted me with a six-pack of Pepsi because he knows of my struggle to be pop free and has caught me guzzling a forbidden fizzy soda on more than one occasion. To my shame, I drank that all of that Pepsi. Let’s be honest, here – I drank two of those Pepsis that night. Thank-you, dear Brian, for being my enabler.
I finally removed my sock from my foot after forty-five minutes and discovered a swollen big toe that was black and purple. I also had a bruise across the top part of foot. My husband peeked into my home office where I had gone to continue my pity party and informed me “we’ve killed that bottle of wine, it will never be able to hurt you again!” And then he displayed the empty bottle of wine as proof. Ummm… thanks guys, your vigilante efforts are very much appreciated. [Sic]
I don’t mean to be a big baby – but dang it all to heck, my toe is still killing me. Wearing a shoe inflicts such pain that I must confess to going out in public in bedroom slippers. I am just now able to put weight down on the foot. I haven’t been to the gym in almost four weeks. I fell off the wagon and have been consuming Pepsi on almost a daily basis. I whine – a lot. I give wine bottles the stink eye.
I’m determined to reclaim my life. Come heck or high water, I plan on being back at the gym this upcoming week. I got rid of all of the Pepsi in my house – yes, that means that I drank all of the pop, but it’s gone from my house. And from now on, when I decide to open the refrigerator I will be wearing steel-toe boots.
Oh yeah – and I also plan on taking down the Christmas tree and outside lights. Fa-La-La-La-La-La-La-La-La!