As it is Father’s day, I want to share a funny story from yesterday.
My brother was on a church camping trip, my mom was doing errands, and my father was at a cooking fundraiser helping out. I was being a home-body. Clean a sink, do some dishes, take out the trash, etc.
I won’t say I’m a klutz, but I do have a surprising ability to run into EVERYTHING completely by accident. Bash my hips into table corners and door knobs (Who’s idea was it to make them that perfectly horrible height?!?!), knock my elbows into door frames, hit my poor toes on a wide variety of everything that was put on this planet. I fell down the stairs at my high school THREE TIMES in one year. How?!?!
And somehow I can still float through perfect turns at dance. Search me.
Anyways, as I finished cleaning the green bathroom, I went walking out the door (Intending to do a load of dishes I think) and smacked my right pinky toe against the door frame. HARD.
I kinda growled in the general direction of the offending foot and carried on for a few steps before I realized that…There was something wrong with my toe.
Now, this delayed reaction is normal for ballerinas on pointe. The nerves on our feet get such constant wear from our shoes that they don’t really…Work…Anymore.
Well, they don’t work unless you RIP THE TIP OF YOUR TOE OFF.
I’m not going to post pictures because it was nasty, but I’m not joking. I somehow managed to kick the door frame in such a right/wrong way that it ripped the tip of my toe off.
I awkwardly hopped my way back to the bathroom, pulled myself up on the counter, and stuck my now profusely bleeding foot into what had been a beautifully clean sink. I washed the wounded toe thoroughly, wrapped it in a towel, and went and called Mom.
“Hello this is Deanna.”
“Hey Mama, I just ripped the tip of my toe off. I kicked a wall.”
” Why were you kicking a wall?!?!”
“It’s not like it was on purpose!!!!”
“Okay well, have you washed it out? How bad is it bleeding?”
“Yea I did, it’s bleeding worse than I expected”
“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
So we hung up. I put pressure on the poor toe, but darn it, it HURT. And I was in serious need of comfort. My inner 2-year-old was threatening to come out and make me sit there and bawl instead of doing something about it.
And then the front door opens. DADDY! Home earlier than expected.
“What happened?” (Referencing the bloody rag I was holding on my foot)
“I ripped the top of my toe off.”
He dropped everything he was doing, rushed off to get our medical supplies, and comforted me whilst hunting for the appropriate things to use on my foot.
Mom came home about 10 minutes later.
Dad the hero saves the day again!