My house has these two decorative columns that divide the living room and dining room. One of the useless columns is about 2 feet from the wall that encloses the kitchen (we have an open floor plan). It was broad daylight, so I can’t even use the dark as an excuse. I was walking out of the kitchen with a plate of lunch and two cute little bare feet, and I slammed my right pinky toe into that column. You know, that stupid, useless column that I hate.
This is the third–count it, THIRD–time I’ve broken a toe in my house. Twice on that horrifying, pointless column. The other time I broke it on the stupid wall that encloses the kitchen.
My feet have been the victims of random acts of clumsiness, both on my part and on the part of others. My children and others have stepped on, dropped things on, and otherwise been cruel to my little piggies. I’ve slammed them, tripped and stubbed them, scratched them, bumped them …
But only since I moved to Charlotte in 1999. Honestly, I can’t remember any foot-related injuries before we moved here.
Stupid North Carolina. Why do you hate my feet?