I managed to kick Husband's chair*** and say only "owie-owie," as opposed to the many fine blue words bouncing in my head. I walked it off. It didn't feel better. I put ice on it. I elevated. I sat around. I watched it swell. Right around the weird, hard bump. That was a bone.
Yup. I broke my toe.
I've had worse timing in my life, because there's no need for me to, say, drive anywhere in the next few days. But walking? Hurts. Sleeping? Also. Sitting around? Ditto. Plus, I've been really, really good about working out in the past week. I'm talking an hour at a time on the elliptical. That's over for a minute. The one bonus? The cute and generous BIL and SIL gave us wii-Fit for Christmas, and I didn't fight the Kids for a turn (because I know they'll tire of it by the time they go back to school, and it will be all mine) and now when I feel all better, no small cartoon man will berate me for my long lazy-stretch. Because, really, how do you justify the broken toe to the cartoon trainer?
**He often does this. He prefers to do it when it's positive degrees outside, but he'll agree to do it whenever I buy meat and buns.
***This was not pent-up agression. Just random stupidity.