I was 15 years old. We lived in a townhome and I didn’t wear shoes in the house. My feet are claustrophobic, like to feel the air. I was careering around a corner and the little toe of my right foot slammed into the piano bench with a sickening crunch. Yep. Broken toe. Nothing to do for it but wear protective shoes.
Seems like for several years it was always broken, because it was swollen and I was–nay, am–clumsy as they come so it just never healed all the way. But eventually I grew less clumsy and the toe healed. funnily, but it healed. Every now and then, though, I have to break that toe just t0 prove to myself that I’m a klutz who needs to wear shoes in the house.
You know what’s funniest about the current breakage? I somehow managed to slam it up against one of Joe’s guitar cases. So my first broken toe was on my piano bench and my most recent breakage was on a guitar case. Romantic way to tie myself and my husband together through our mutual love for music and my silly small toe on the right foot.
haven’t tried whiskey, but doubt it would work either.