I was up in the middle of the night – as old people are – and caught my little toe on the corner of the bed on the way back. “This Little Piggy cried, wee, wee wee!” while I said some rather harsh things not suitable for print. I will soak it later, but in the meantime am wearing slippers instead of my regular tennis shoes and hobbling around rather dramatically. My sweet husband is calling me “Chester” from the old ‘Gunsmoke’ TV show we loved years ago.
I feel stupid. I KNOW the bed is there. I KNOW we made the bed from solid wood and that my toe is no match for it. I’ve been getting up in the middle of the night and getting back to bed without problems for many years. Why last night was different is anyone’s guess.
It’s hurting enough that I will remember to give the bed corner a WIDE BERTH for many years to come…
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