Just yesterday, while dining in one of our local watering holes, my husband remarked about all the piercings young people have nowadays. Don't worry honey, I reassured him, I won't get anything (else) pierced. No more metal for me. How wrong I was, again.
Weeding is great therapy. Seeing as how I am off on medical leave for a bit, in need of some therapy, I thought this would be a great activity for a hot, sunny Sunday. There is something satisfying about the crick in your back after bending and stretching to rip those stubborn weeds out by the roots, the blisters on your thumb and index finger that develop after hours of yanking on tenacious hanks of chickweed, crab grass and pig-weed and the sunburn on your back after you have shucked your shirt cause it is too hot. Acupuncture is great therapy too, when done properly. But I do not recommend acupuncture, or getting your latest piercing via pruning shears. This is likely to happen when you hook one handle of your very sharp open pruning shears in your shorts pocket while weeding, then stand up to dump the offending weeds in the wheelbarrow. It is highly probably that you will find that those cute little blue handled shears have leaped from your pocket and are now standing firmly erect in your foot, cleanly piercing your skin trying to peg you to the spot you have just weeded. Why you ask did I have pruning shears when weeding? Well, I was on my way (an hour earlier) to do some pruning when those weeds jumped up out of no where and taunted me as I walked past, na-na, nana-na they screamed at me. How could I not stop and rip their roots from the earth? Why didn't I close and lock my shears before putting them in my pocket? Duh, that is too simple.
With blood leaking from my foot (not quite gushing but squishing in my sandal) I located my personal physician so he could patch me up. Hmm, pretty deep, he says. Got a needle? Not likely I tell him, duct tape will do. Being the professional that he is the duct tape was a no go, but it is wrapped very prettily in nice white gauze and tape. No more piercings, he says, no more metal.
I am fine, my foot hurts a bit but nothing like the sting of the fact that the weeds won the battle this day. I will be back chickweed, I will be back to get you.
For those that have chastised me for not keeping my blog up, this is for you. As I mentioned, I was lacking inspiration to write. Obviously, stabbing myself in the foot is not the best inspiration, but it worked. Here I sit, with my foot throbbing, nicely wrapped and elevated sipping on my pain killer thinking of better topics to write about than my latest piercing.