Because the universe is not without a sense of irony, my little “Unlucky Socks” poem from yesterday was hilariously brought to life this morning. I just got out of the shower and dried off, put on a fresh pair of boxer shorts and a nice white tee-shirt and turned to walk out of my bathroom. I then stubbed my right grand toe on the door jamb of the bathroom doorway. I saw the white flash and the stars were dancing on circus balls before my eyes. I lunged for the walls of the hallway for support.
“God damn unlucky boxers,” I shouted as I bit my lip and did the holy shit I’m in so much pain right now I wish God would just smite me stance.
A stubbing of the toe would normally not be so bad except my grand right toe is broken, and has been since 1995. I kicked a metal folding chair across a room once in moment of temper and broke my grand toe right down the middle. I was told by the doctor, a few days later because I figured I could just walk it off, but then I couldn’t walk, that I had successfully destroyed my grand toe and frankly, it’ll stop hurting but it’ll never really heal. It’ll always be broken.
“Awesome. Awesome,” I remember thinking, “Broken Toe Forever would be a great band name.”
So since those heady days of youth I’ve had a broken toe (I have gout in the other toe/foot, but that’s a different story.) and I’ve limped around like a WWI veteran. I actually thought it was sort of cool to have something so characteristically me; something so identifiable that friends could see me a block or two away because of my curious limping gait. It was just how I was going to have to walk for the rest of my life and I just had to accept it.
Time does heal all wounds and eventually I was back to walking pretty normally, depending on the weather and what was going on in ye olde gout foot and life just went on. Yet in the back of my mind I was always cautious about my poor broken toe. I tried not to do too much that would stress it out, or cause the break to get worse. I’m a cautious survivor. I’m no hero though.
So this morning, when the universe needed a chuckle, circumstances aligned to cause the stubbing of my poor toe. A poor toe which really has been through so much, from going to the market to an ironic universal joke. The rest of the story involves the agony of putting on a sock. A pseudo-lucky sock I hope, followed by my boot. (Yes I still wear Doc Marten’s. Clearly the 90’s never ended for me.) I’m sure I made my typical, “well, I’m a man and I’ll just have to grin and bear this curious injury of fate as best I can,” face. It’s important for men to hide their pain behind a teeth gritting smile.
The pain has lessened some, driving didn’t help much but now that I’m sitting and not putting too much pressure on it I seem to be doing a bit better. My cautious limp has returned though and I’m walking like I did when I was in my twenties, for a little while anyway. It will eventually pass and I’ll be back to normal, but those boxers are now in the “unlucky” pile. In any regard, I did want to thank the universe for at least reading my poem yesterday and devising a hysterical prank on me. Thumbs up universe, you got me. Just you wait though…just, you, wait…