Quick, Call a Toe Truck!

Dave and the kid were wrestling on our bed last night.  Happens a lot.  The blanket gets all messed up, pillows end up everywhere, and the clothes I'd carefully set out for the next day end up on the floor...in a heap.

As much as a disruption that this is, I rather like that the guys wrestle.  It's good stuff.


It's good stuff until what happened last night, that is.  They're wrestling on the bed, blanket is messed up, pillows are strewn about, my clothes are in a heap...and the kitten freaks out, runs outa there at break neck speed, steps on my toe, accidentally digging one of his super sharp claws deep, and bolts away.


Me:  "Ooooowwwwwwww!!!"  That really, really hurt!

Me:  "I'm bleeding!"  I was.

Me:  "I need a bandaid!"  I did.

Me:  "I need antibacterial ointment!"  I really did.

Me:  "Isn't somebody going to call a toe truck?!?!"


Silence.

Sometimes my sense of humor is so under-appreciated.

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