In an effort to prove I am the clumsiest person on the planet, yesterday I dropped a 75 lb potted plant flat smack on my left foot. Ummm, unpleasant doesn't even begin to describe the feeling of Mexican pottery, 50 lbs of dirt and a Dracaena Fragrans Massangeana (scientific plant jargon for something ironically called a "Happy Plant") landing on your foot. The pot actually shattered into a thousand pieces - causing me to wonder if I should call an ambulance or sweep up the mess first.
Instead, I called my husband (who's new name is "In a Meeting" - because 9 times out of 10 when I call him he tells me in a whispered tone "In a meeting, call you right back") and the conversation went something like this:
Me: "Hi, I think I broke my foot"
IN A MEETING: "OK, Let me call you right back"
Me: "Ummm, ok" (insert agonizing moan)
2 minutes later - I'm still laying on the floor covered in dirt and pottery dust, my foot has tripled in size and is starting to resemble Rihanna's face after an especially tumultuous night with Chris Brown, when In a Meeting (IAM for short) calls back.
IN A MEETING: "Should I call an Ambulance"
Me: NO - oh dear god, no. Too embarrassing, plus the house is a mess.
IAM: "Ok, I'm on my way".
Later at the urgent care, the doctor looks at my purple club foot and says "I'd say by looking at it that it's definitely broken." The x-rays however, said differently - not even a hairline fracture. To be safe they sent the X Rays to an expert (still waiting the results) and sent in a Doug Henning (flamboyant magician of the 70's who wore tee shirts with rainbows and unicorns on them) look-alike to put on a 1/2 cast-splint on my foot. While Doug Henning cracked jokes (at this point no one had even offered me so much as a fricking Motrin, thank you very much) he actually had the audacity to look at my dirty Indian feet and say, "Well, clearly your husband does not have a foot fetish." Mr. Happy Unicorn went on to say, "Although it does look like you had your toes done......about a year ago." I wanted to apologize for not stopping off at Happy Nails for a quick pedicure before heading to Urgent Care but I bit my tongue and laughed at his stupid foot insult.
Cut to an hour later. I'm home with my fake cast, foot on a pillow watching Ellen. IAM needs to go back to work (something about a meeting) when he gets a call about a friend and employee up in LA who is in deep personal trouble. Without getting into details, IAM (a.k.a. Dr. Drew) drives up to LA and calls me on the way to let me know, "I'm bringing *** back to stay with us for a few days. Can you get Daniel's room ready?" First of all, our son Daniel is 13 years old: a heroin hang-out squatter house in Hell's kitchen would be easier to clean with an hours notice. So I'm running up and down the stairs in my cast/splint changing sheets, dusting vacuuming and picking up 4 weeks of dirty towels of his floor. Don't even get me started on the kids bathroom (a.k.a. the roadside rest stop) which also needed a deep clean. I hurled expletives at the children (nice) to get them to help, which they did - thank you sweet children. By the way, still with no pain meds. By the time I was finished, Daniel's room was spotless, and my 1/2 cast was completely sideways and the bandages were completely unraveled. I might as well have run the Boston Marathon. I ended up ripping that f**ker off about 2 am, because let's face it, plaster and pre-menopausal night sweats just don't mix.
This morning my daughter called from school - she had forgotten a book so I drove a whopping 1/2 mile to the school to bring it to her. Ironically In A Meeting called while I was in route, and actually gave me a tongue lashing for being on my feet. Ummmmmmmmm, don't you have a meeting to get to or something? Meanwhile our guest is still sleeping in Daniel's room. It's been an interesting 24 hours.
PS - for anyone under the age of 25, the handsome devil pictured above is iconic 70's magician, Doug Henning! The picture below is my foot and not Rihanna's face.