Hot Mess

The Broad is a hot, bubbly mess. 

The other night I attempted to surprise Hubby by strewing festive Christmas lights in our kitchen, but about halfway through my enthusiasm began to fizzle and the end result was a bit slapdash.  In my defense, there were two homemade mini pot pies simmering in the oven so there was already a good deal of multi-tasking going on.

In my haste, I'd left several bunches of Christmas lights on the floor.  Hubby must have stepped on them on his way in, which is the only possible explanation for why I landed on broken glass when I jumped down from the chair in my bare feet.

Oh.  Shit.  I wasn't entirely sure what had taken place, I only knew there was pain.  Pain, and lots of blood.  Blood all over the place.  Drops and drops of it on the floor...on my comfy soft green pants...one bloody, grisly heel print on the white tile in the bathroom.  It was straight out of a bad B horror movie. 

Gagging, I hobbled into the living room and tried to stop the bleeding while Hubby assessed the damage.  At one point he attempted to take a tweezer to my heel to remover a tiny shard of glass, but luckily we discovered it was just a flap of skin.  Good thing, too, since I was howling in pain at the mere sight of him wielding those tweezers.  Oi vey.  Who knew decorating could be dangerous?

On a different but partially similar note, it would be a pity if I left out the current state of my hands.  Has anyone else's skin been affected by the cold, frigid December weather?  My hands are raw, red and cracking.  I've been drenching them in Eucerin lotion religiously, all to no avail.  And naturally my nighttime moisturizing gloves got lost in the move.

I decided to ask Hubby to borrow some socks.  Well?  Desperate times force one to think outside the box.  We agreed on an old pair of white ones, and I slathered on some lotion and slipped them on.  (My hands.)  As I smooched my husband good night, taking his face in my gloved (socked) hands, I realized there was something infinitely wrong with this picture.  (And possibly, myself.)  But alas, I had no choice.  Hubby continues to humor me nightly.

The irony is, as a young child I very much enjoyed wearing socks on my hands.  I preferred it, even.  I believe it had something to do with a strong aversion to getting my fingernails clipped.  Go figure.  xoxo

Comments

[ma]

ok, wearing a sock on your hand had nothing to do with getting your fingernails clipped - you told me you had a "dot" on your hand from falling on a pencil - I thought it was lead under your skin and brought you to see Dr. Newman - he took the sock off your hand, looked at your "dot" - then looked at me as if to say "you're listening to a 3 year old?" I remember you wore that sock for quite awhile ... I love you, my almost thirty year old angel from Heaven....mommy

[Amy]

I love your mom!

[cube]

Aha! Now we know the real story and it involved a dot.

When my youngest daughter was little, she would often complain about being scared of the orange dots she would see at bedtime. We finally figured out it was the after-image from the light.

Dots can be troublesome ;-)

[Weinerdog]

Oh Weiner! "That's gonna leave a maark"!

[The Odd Broad]

Mama, I stand corrected.

PS: I still hate my dot. Love you xoxo