Ms. Plum was watching the whole thing go down and looking mighty guilty.
My foot got JACKED up.
I will spare you the gorey picture of my bloodied foot and for that, you are most welcome.
So when the crap hit the wind tunnel, Mr. Pants jumped to action. First he placed the "poon" in time-out to think about what it had done. Then with a quickness usually reserved for declarations of his need for "more nuggets!", he pushed a chair to the freezer and found me an ice pack.
He looked worried. His little face was scared. He needed to help me.
"Mama you ok? Mama let me see! I help you, Mama. Ooooh mama, is bleeding?"
"Yes, bud. It's bleeding. It hurts but I will be ok. Don't worry, babe. Mama's fine", I said, as I held back all of my cuss words and the desire to overturn tables out of rage because this hurt like a MoFo.
He found a band-aid and brought it to me. "Hee ya go, mama. Ah Uh-nie bandan" and he hands me the tiniest Ernie band-aid. I think it's purpose is to cover a zit.
"Oh thank you, bud! That will help! Can you help mama hold this pad on my foot?"
Yeah, that's right. If you slice the arch of your foot open, do you know what acts as a cushion/blood stopper/ perfect size bandage?