Toe be or not toe be a klutz

This was supposed to be a post about the progress I'm making on my preppy polo top, but it's changed to bring you an important note about the dangers of being a big idiot.

We've moved into the new house (yay! I'll post photos once we're all settled in) and I went outside on our patio to take some photos of the polo top. I've finished knitting the back and I'm working on the front. I've got one skein of yarn left and the skein that Brown Sheep is sending me to make up for the gimpy one I got is in the mail.


After taking some photos, I walked into the kitchen through the patio doors, except, unlike normal people, I didn't lift my foot high enough to make it over the bottom track of the sliding doors and mashed my big toe. I squealed and squirmed in pain and I knew right away I had broken some of those cute little bones I broke in the same toe last April. My husband ran to me, only to tell me that I'm retarded. Thanks honey, I knew that.

When I finally mustered the courage to remove my sock and take a look at said toe, I was pretty grossed out. Of course, I must share the gruesome sight with you. Here's my icky toe.


Of course, breaking a toe is bad enough, but the musical I'm in debuts in one week and in addition to singing and acting, I'm supposed to dance. Not just any dance, I'm supposed to do the can-can. I foresee lots of painkillers before opening night . . .