So I'm walking out of the bathroom, when vanity sets in and I check out my haggard appearance in the mirror. Bleck, I am thinking as my feet still keep moving. I run squarely into the wall. My mind screams as my three smallest toes on my right foot smash into the door jam and make a sickening crunch. Each separates on a different molding part.
What to do in that split second when my husband stands 20 feet away on an important professional call? A call that pays the mortgage?
Well, you don't scream, "fuck," like you really want to. Nope, you whimper "son of a buck." It's just not as satisfying and doesn't dissipate the piercing pain. I do the little tribal dance in a circle, trying to muffle my moans.
CG raises an eyebrow with his earphones on? Nothing to see here. Just a pathetic, toe-smashing, vain Mommy. Nothing see. Clear out. Disaster avoided.
I wonder what the guy on the other line thought.
Then I hear the shrieking of the kids, fighting over God knows what coming down the stairs.So much for averting disaster.