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Friday, June 10, 2016


This World. Our country. Too many homes. And my middle toe on my right foot. (I do NOT mean to diminish the first three—truly.)

So I went to an orthopedic doctor (because I don’t believe there’s a podiatrist in the town nearest our casa) yesterday to see about my foot/toe that has been in LOTS O’ PAIN. It’s been swollen. Feverish. Tender to the touch. By the end of each day, I’m exhausted from trying to walk. (My Fitbit Steps have definitely suffered.)

Sure enough, after three x-rays, I have a broken toe. Of course, I have no way to know—or prove—that the lady that did my pedi 2 ½ weeks ago contributed to this injury. It’s possible that toe had been sprained or weak. Or even had a little fracture. Let's face it:  I’m 62. I could injure myself anytime—anyplace—anywhere.

No Shocker: I won’t be able to go back to said salon. I just can’t. That upgraded/”fancy” pedi could cost me up to $1,000—or more. (I shouldn't have to have surgery. Won't even be wearing one of those lovely "boots." At this point. I am having some cutting-edge laser treatments that ain't cheap. Sheesh.) I think this experience has convinced/taught me I MUST be proactive about my old, osteoporosis-filled body—making sure no one else massages my wittle tootsies too hard.

Here’s hoping each of Y’all has a Wonderful Weekend—Wherever in the World Y’all are. Try not to break any of your toes, ‘kay?

Smooches and Hugs…