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| HUMOR FROM THE PUMPKIN PATCH By Marti Lawrence Articles published in The Examiner Newspaper Fall Brings Color Change It’s Blue Toe Season! In the ocean of injuries I have inflicted on my body, (amputated-then-reattached-finger, multiple fractures, surgical insertion of pins, screws and metal plates, and more stitches than a quilt), a stubbed toe is barely a ripple. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Have you ever plowed little-toe-first into something solid? I mean REALLY solid? Ouch! |
| It was my own fault, (of course) but I choose to blame the pen (which resented the implication and has since disappeared.) I was trying to be organized, (something that almost always gets me in trouble). I was making a list. No more willy-nilly browsing for me, I was going to return home from THIS shopping trip with the essentials, instead of my usual moaning and groaning about forgotten items. I circled the house intently, eyes darting about for articles that needed re-supply. Proudly I added items to the lengthening list, until the inkpen, (apparently in cahoots with every other mechanical device in the universe, all of whom hate me) slipped from my grasp. It leapt as though it had sprouted wings. Soaring across the room to the most difficult to reach spot it flew, landing behind the large leather chair. Undeterred, I tried to fish it out. I couldn’t reach it, so with a powerful pull, I dragged the chair out. I retrieved the inkpen and gave it a good talking-to. (No, I didn’t really, but I did call it an unprintable expletive.) Then I committed the fatal (well, painful) error. I didn’t slide the chair back. “I’ll remember to do it later”, I thought. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Pen in hand, I continued taking notes. My list got longer, my memory got weaker, and the chair sat there, waiting, knowing it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, (well duh, that’s the topic of this piece), I forgot about the chair until our violent encounter. I was scurrying about, (never good), looking for my shoes, leaving me barefoot and vulnerable. The sturdy chair hunkered quietly, anticipating the strike. “Grrrrrrr, she thinks she can leave me just sitting here alone, in the same place week after week, with these stinking dust bunnies gathering beneath me! (The dust bunnies all giggled in unison, then began calling their friends to come over, just to annoy the chair, as they are terrible little pranksters.) Haven’t you ever heard of rearranging your furniture, woman? I’m tired of looking at that stupid coffee table!” The coffee table sniffed haughtily, (being imported) and muttered back with it’s elegant foreign accent, “oh, ze chair eeze tired of ze view, eh? I am BEAUTIFUL, you peasant!” I heard none of this, of course. Furniture pieces, just like animals and mechanical devices, speak to each other in a frequency that is usually out of range of human hearing. Occasionally I catch snippets of it when I am fevered or just falling asleep, but let’s not spread that around. Saying you know what the refrigerator is thinking can get you in b-I-g trouble. But I digress. |
The chair growled in disgust at the table, but lurked patiently, knowing his reward was at hand. He braced himself for the impact, keenly
aware that his brute strength was no match for my puny bones. Sure enough, the foot took a step and KA-POW!
I went reeling backwards across the room, as the chair smirked proudly, and the dust bunnies had fits of glee. The table looked on
sympathetically. The carpet braced for impact, but I somehow remained semi-vertical, bent over, but not falling down. I hopped to the
couch on the other foot, straining the metallic reinforcements, who grumbled about having to do double duty. “Hey! We’re only
supposed to support HALF the load!”
I lifted my leg to examine the foot, and the toe was already beginning to swell. The chair smirked, immensely satisfied with himself,
until I furiously shoved it back in it’s place. “Grrrrrrr, one of these days lady, one of these days………”
I was hobbled for several days, limping alternately between the stubbed-toe-foot and the complaining-metal-inset ankle. The toe turned
a bright, vivid blue, but is now fading to black, green and gold.
And so, once again…the season of changing colors has arrived.
aware that his brute strength was no match for my puny bones. Sure enough, the foot took a step and KA-POW!
I went reeling backwards across the room, as the chair smirked proudly, and the dust bunnies had fits of glee. The table looked on
sympathetically. The carpet braced for impact, but I somehow remained semi-vertical, bent over, but not falling down. I hopped to the
couch on the other foot, straining the metallic reinforcements, who grumbled about having to do double duty. “Hey! We’re only
supposed to support HALF the load!”
I lifted my leg to examine the foot, and the toe was already beginning to swell. The chair smirked, immensely satisfied with himself,
until I furiously shoved it back in it’s place. “Grrrrrrr, one of these days lady, one of these days………”
I was hobbled for several days, limping alternately between the stubbed-toe-foot and the complaining-metal-inset ankle. The toe turned
a bright, vivid blue, but is now fading to black, green and gold.
And so, once again…the season of changing colors has arrived.
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