Last night I was walking to the front door barefoot when I stepped on something. I knew it instantly, it was a ginormous chunk of glass- and it was now embedded in my poor tootsies. From where it was, I knew it was probably tracked in on hub's work boots (who I had to step over to get to the door.ahem.) but that still didn't stop me from vacuuming like a crazy person and then using tack cloth on the floor just to make sure my poor baby didn't get a sliver in his chubby knees or toes.
Oh yeah, I did all of this on one foot because that glass was still in there.
So after I got it all cleaned up I asked the hubs if he could take a look. He said he could see it, and would try to remove it with some tweezers.
Fast forward to me face down on the bathroom floor, squirming and squealing obscenities because it hurt like a mother-you-know-what.
He stopped and said what, he thought, was a rational statement.
"Stop it. You had a baby, no problems. This is a pair of tweezers, not a scalpel. This can not hurt as bad as giving birth."
Now I know he meant well. He just wanted me to stop squirming so he could get out the glass, which was now buried about 1/8 inch down. So I responded with the most rational comment I could muster.
"You're right, now go get the anesthesiologist to give me an epidural and you can dig away all you like."
He did not appreciate my snappy comeback- so he dug away. But he did get the glass out, and put a nice Hello Kitty Band-Aid on it. Then he offered me a Popsicle.
Because hes a good guy, and I'm a pain weenie.
Happy Tuesday, Lovelies!