I think I broke my toe. Saturday I was unloading a dishwasher (not my own and not nearly as steamy as it sounds) and needed to put three wine glasses away on a high shelf. I balanced the bowl of a glass on my three middle fingers and attempted to push the rim up and over the edge of the shelf, but the weight of the stem and the foot of the glass would not allow it to tip. Even in my four inch heels I could not quite reach. I thought about leaving the glasses on the counter, but it seemed so lazy.
I slid out of my shoes, caramel leather stacked heel mules that became my everyday shoe in the spring, and swung my knee onto the counter. It’s funny how roomy counters seem until you’re kneeling on one and find you need to hook your fingers under the edge of the cabinet to not fall off while you lean back to put something on the top shelf. Wine glasses in place, I did another modified camel pose to close the cabinet door (noting, momentarily the wisdom of open shelves) and hopped, somewhat Mary Lou Retten-like, off of the counter and onto the heel of my shoe that I had so wisely removed to ensure that I would not injure myself while getting down.
It hurt like a son of a gun, though I used a much worse word to express my discomfort. I walked tentatively, lightly pressing my foot into the cool wood, until I finally shrugged and thought, “What’s a girl to do?” There’s only so much time in a Saturday after all. I slid my feet back into my mules and ran errands for an hour.
In hindsight, this might not have been the wisest decision. When I stopped to pick up some art from the framer’s, I told the owner, who is a friend, my story. I pulled my foot from my shoe and set it, gratefully, on the cool concrete floor. “Holy cow!” he said. I hope that he meant the swelling and not just the horror of my feet, which are, I can say without reservation, my least attractive part. In every way, they embody my Irish peasant heritage.
I went home from there to change shoes and then (you didn’t think I was just going to go home, did you?) and then to have an adventure with my friend whom I think of as my Auntie Mame. I promise you, time spent with her is always smart. Finally, I did ice and elevate and tape.
I asked one friend what Louise Hay would say about accidentally breaking one’s toe. “Trouble in the foundation? Self-inflicting pain?” I wondered. “Refusal to move?” she responded. “Or maybe just an accident.” Yes, most likely. As the bruise began to bloom down my toe and across the top of my foot, another friend offered the most obvious advice. “Wine glasses don’t go on the top shelf.” Truer words.