Now and then, I pick up a book that's so intriguing I just can't put it down until I reach the last page. Compelling, vivid and racy pages filled with plot twists, secrets, thrillers, and cliffhangers.
I was reading such a book in bed. Reluctantly, I flipped off the lights because it was time to sleep. There was work the next day. Early to bed, early to rise and all that good stuff.
I heard a strange sound just as I was about drifting off to asleep. Was the front door locked? I couldn’t remember. I got up in the middle of the night. I didn't think I needed the lights. I was sure I knew the way to the front door even in the dark. Suddenly, I found the hard table legs with the little toe of my right foot. That's the function of the little toe. Like an antennae, it feels around for where we are going and helps us make painful connections with furniture or sharp objects. Well done, little toe.
The pain was acute and hurt like a mother. My poor metatarsal seemed fractured. I touched the toe with my fingers. It was painful and tender. Sometimes, I exaggerate when it comes to pain, but I had a feeling immediate surgery was required. I turned my head towards the night sky and let out a primitive howl of sheer agony. I could imagine my neighbors pulling their blankets tighter and over their heads. No doubt thinking it was an angry werewolf or some other nocturnal beast.
Time to find that blasted light switch that was on a wall somewhere. I needed the light after all. Just then, I stubbed the same hurt toe on the TV stand as I fumbled around in the dark looking for the light switch. This time, I unleashed a loud, ear-piercing scream like some poor creature in a death agony.
The sad and traumatized life of my poor little toe. Repeatedly stubbing the same toe pisses me off.
