Click on photos to enlarge.
Looks sort of like bad graffiti, doesn’t it? This is what happens when you slip going between the pool and hot tub! A fast application of ice and elevation saved the day! These photos were taken 11 hours later—swelling almost gone. What an inappropriate bid for sympathy! See the fuller story HERE.
I just dropped my Mac Air and it fell down vertically like a knife edge and sliced open two toes. I was sure they were broken, not to mention my computer, which sat unheeded while I found a napkin to soak up the blood. This is one is a series of freak accidents I’ve suffered in my life. I had been on Skype with Forgottenman and Skyped him on my other computer saying I didn’t know what to do as I couldn’t stand to touch my wounds but couldn’t imagine how it would hurt to pour alcohol on them. He suggested hydrogen peroxide and by then I’d wrapped a napkin around my foot and determined nothing was broken, so I limped to the bathroom only to discover that a bottle of cherry-flavored Robitussin had spilled out over and seeped under 3/4 of my medicine drawer! This, friends, has not been my night. I found the Agua Oxigenada (Spanish for hydrogen peroxide), washed it off, hobbled to the shower and poured it over my toes, then waited for them to dry and administered an antibiotic ointment and bandaids. I’m now at my desk typing on my Mac Air, which seems unaffected by my trauma. I’ll spare you the photos that I took of my bloody and skinned-back toes to wring sympathy out of Forgottenman.
Here, by the way, was Forgottenman’s sensitive response after I sent him the photos of my foot:
Broken Date
Whether twisting my ankle or stubbing my toe,
it’s adventure travel wherever I go.
When I set out, I’m firm in my knowing
just exactly where I am going,
yet somehow I wind up in some other place:
sprawled on the cobblestones, flat on my face.
If I’m due to meet you but I’m a bit late,
if I don’t show up for our scheduled date,
I haven’t forgotten. For sure, I’ve set out.
I’ve tried to get to you, there isn’t a doubt.
If there’s a glitch in my trip’s execution,
It’s something for which I don’t have a solution.
At the end of the day, though I’ve missed our appointment,
and ended up swathed in Band-aids and ointment,
it’s a typical day for the accident prone.
Though I’d like to join you, I end up alone.
I boldly set out, though I rarely arrive,
and count myself lucky that I’m still alive!
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/12/28/fowc-with-fandango-adventure/
image downloaded from the internet.
The Avid Student meets Murphy’s Law
Have you ever known someone who just could not get it right, no matter how they tried? Here is a reprint of a poem I wrote a few years ago about a young lady who was the epitome of Murphy’s Law!
The Avid Student
Mrs. O’Leary, teach me how
please oh please, to milk a cow.
I won’t leave here till you do.
I’m bored today, and feeling blue.
Yesterday I baked a cake
with that new baker, name of Jake.
It didn’t rise. It tasted awful.
Couldn’t eat but one small jaw full.
Day before I went to see
Joe the tailor. Him and me
made a dress of chambray lace
but when I held it near my face
I found it itched me terrible.
To wear it was unbearable.
So I went on to see the preacher.
Wanted him to be my teacher.
But when it came the time to pray,
he found he hadn’t much to say.
I fear that I destroyed his faith.
I left him white as any wraith,
but found the cobbler in a pew
and asked him how to make a shoe.
He’d witnessed what the preacher did
and so he ran away and hid.
So Mrs. O’Leary, it’s up to you
to show me something I can do.
I know it’s dark, but I need right now
to know just how you milk your cow.
I brought a lantern. I’ll hold it high.
It’s not real light, but we’ll get by.
I’ll just sit on this straw bale.
You fetch the cow and fetch the pail.
I love the way the hot milk steam
swirls around the rising cream.
I love the rhythm and the pomp
of my light squeeze and Bessie’s stomp
whenever I let loose her tit.
I cannot get enough of it!
But now we’re done and I can see
that bucket’s much too much for thee
to lift, I’ll put the lantern down and
come with thee to give a hand.
I’ll come right back and close the barn.
Tomorrow, I’ll have quite a yarn
for everyone I want to tell
I finally did something well!!!!
For those of you unacquainted with Mrs. O’Leary, I include this description of The Great Chicago Fire of 1871:
“The summer of 1871 was very dry, leaving the ground parched and the wooden city vulnerable. On Sunday evening, October 8, 1871, just after nine o’clock, a fire broke out in the barn behind the home of Patrick and Catherine O’Leary at 13 DeKoven Street. How the fire started is still unknown today, but an O’Leary cow often gets the credit.
The firefighters, exhausted from fighting a large fire the day before, were first sent to the wrong neighborhood. When they finally arrived at the O’Leary’s, they found the fire raging out of control. The blaze quickly spread east and north. Wooden houses, commercial and industrial buildings, and private mansions were all consumed in the blaze.
After two days, rain began to fall. On the morning of October 10, 1871, the fire died out, leaving complete devastation in the heart of the city. At least 300 people were dead, 100,000 people were homeless, and $200 million worth of property was destroyed. The entire central business district of Chicago was leveled. The fire was one of the most spectacular events of the nineteenth century, and it is recognized as a major milestone in the city’s history.”
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Comedy of Errors (and bonus assignment!).”Murphy’s Law says, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.” Write about a time everything did — fiction encouraged here, too!
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 