Let me tell you a story. Yesterday, I had a "procedure" done on my foot. Ok, I had warts frozen off. Yes, I'd rather have pretty feet than have the pedicure ladies look at me sideways every time they use the cheese grater on my feet. I've tried to get rid of them for years - all the over the counter stuff, the duct tape, everything. Finally I'd had it and went to a podiatrist (who was really strange, by the way, but that's another post). He said he needed to freeze them each at least 40 sprays so it took a while. And he stressed several times how painful it would be and that there "is simply no pain-free way to get rid of warts." He also stated that some go away on their own but that "at your age" it was unlikely. At my age, indeed!
The procedure itself was relatively pain-free but a few hours later, it was obvious what he meant when he said (time and again) how painful it would be. I'm SO glad I didn't have any jobs scheduled this week beyond the one I did yesterday, because by this morning, I could not stand on my foot at all. I already had a haircut scheduled today with my curly-hair specialist so there was no way I was going to miss that. I hobbled on the side of my foot, took a shower, got ready, and limped downstairs to put the dog in the kennel.
And that's when it happened - my back went out! I guess walking on the side of my foot torqued my back in such a way that when I bent over to lock the kennel I felt the tell-tale searing pain of a back that was unhappy with my gait. Arrows of pain shot across my lower back and I assumed the ever-so-careful walk of a person afraid to incite pain by moving. Or breathing. I headed to the car with an ice pack for my back - I'm nothing if not a multi-tasker.
I left in plenty of time to grab a coffee on my way, but when I pulled away from the coffee stand with my iced mocha and muffin treat, I realized they gave me the wrong muffin! I actually stopped at another coffee stand on the way hoping to acquire my favorite muffin but they didn't have that flavor so I settled for a chocolate-chip muffin and headed to the freeway.
As I crested the overpass, I saw a huge backup on the freeway and my GPS changed to a bright red line for miles. Undaunted, I took an alternate route and arrived 10 minutes late. I missed the entrance to the parking garage and had to drive past the salon to turn around. Seeing a face in the window I gave a quick "Sorry I'm late, I'll be there in a sec" guilty wave, only to realized the face belonged to a mannequin. I waved to a doll head!
The parking garage was full so I had to park a distance away. I did my best quick hobble/limp/skip to get to the salon and began my litany of excuses (all legitimate!). My hairdresser did her magic with my hair and my curls were restored to their natural beauty (ha!).
All I wanted at this point was to be home where I could put my extremely sore foot up, and ice my back. But I had a wicked craving for Puffcorn. This is a junky food that comes in a bag for $2. It resembles Pirate's Booty but has the distinctive orange Cheeto dust on it. It has no nutritional value and it's delicious. My mom introduced this treat to me a few months ago when I visited her in Boise and now I've consumed at least two bags. It's not hard to eat an entire bag in one sitting, and that goes against everything I believe in eating reasonably. I'm not even a fan of anything "chip" like most of the time, but as with all my cravings, if I just let this one run it's course, soon I will tire of it and I won't care about it again. Years ago my sister introduced me to Little Debbie Nutty bars and it was hit and miss there for a bit but I kicked that addiction and I don't even think about them anymore.
Anyway. I really wanted a bag of Puffcorn so I stopped at the local Safeway. My daughter had procured a bag of this crack a few days before at a Safeway so I thought certainly they would have it. Against my better judgment, and my current level of pain, I hopped into Safeway and limped up and down the chip aisle no less than four times before accepting the fact that my beloved Puffcorn was not to be. Dejected, I left the store. To add insult to injury, there was something sticky on the shopping cart and it got all over my hands! I'm super glad I keep a large bottle of hand sanitizer in my car because I doused my hands when I got in the car. Gross.
I emailed my husband about my day so far, and he generously offered to stop at a different store on the way home, on his bike, to pick up my treat. Now, that is a selfless man. But I decided to text my daughter because I looked it up online and the internet said Puffcorn could be purchased at Target. Knowing she would pass a Target on the way home, I figured she could just stop in and pick some up for me. Along with Ben and Jerry's Coffee Toffee crunch ice cream because by now my craving was having a craving. You know how it happens.
Well. Not only did Target not have the Puffcorn but they didn't have the ice cream either. Let me stop here and say that I do not need either of these treats. In fact, my life would be so much better if I never consumed anything with carbs in it for the next 50 years. But I wanted to eat my feelings (as I do) and I couldn't find the Tylenol so I figured it might subdue the pain. Hey, it could have been crack or copious amounts of wine. We all have our drug.
When I got home, I packed some grapes and crackers for a snack and took them and a large glass of water upstairs to tuck into bed with an ice pack and watch Forensic Files. But I couldn't make the TV work. Stupid thing. I found four remotes and by trial and error I made a combination of two of them work and I finally got to watch some true crime before I fell blissfully asleep for two pain-free hours. But then I woke up. And I still wanted Puffcorn but my daughter arrived home with a consolation prize of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and I didn't even eat one because it's not what I wanted and I have some self-control. Sort of.
At any rate, I did not get my treats today. But Jeff did make me a cake. Before you get all sappy about what a great guy he is, let me tell you the back story. My eldest daughter made me a delicious cake on Mother's day (two days ago) using a few baking hacks I told her about. The cake turned out wonderful and I declared that NO ONE was to eat any more of it because the last two slices were for me, goddammit, because I'm the mom and it was for mother's day. And no one argued with me. But my husband, who has absolutely no control over his chocolate addiction, and who had already consumed a large piece of cake WITH ice cream earlier in the evening, felt he needed a nightcap and cut himself a slice of cake before bed. And in the morning, when he went downstairs, that last piece of cake called to him and he shoved it in his face while standing over the sink, without even thinking of me, or the fact that the last piece of ANYTHING sweet and good in this house is automatically mine and everyone knows it. So, when I packed my lunch the next day, all happy that I had cake to look forward to, you know, to break up the day with 20-some kindergartners, I was devastated to see the cake plate standing empty. You better believe I texted him in ALL CAPS and gave him the what-for about stealing MY cake.
So, he made a new cake out of pure guilt and it was delectable. Probably because it was a guilt cake, but still. My foot still feels like tiny knives are stabbing it when I put any pressure on it, and my back is still jacked-up. I know I need to rest and heal and that's about the hardest thing for me to do. I am not accustomed to lying still. I've had no less than five teachers text me today asking if I can work for them this week. I'm busy, dammit, and I need to be functional. But I'm forced to slow down and it's going to drive me nuts.
Also, I ordered six bags of Puffcorn from Walmart. They arrive Friday. Bless the internet.
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