Dentists and Doctors and Splinters and Such

At the risk of drawing criticism for “whining about things you could change,” or whatever (still cracks me up), yesterday was quite the medically trying day.

It started with minor (and highly unsuccessful) self-surgery yesterday morning. Actually, it started the night before. At some point in the evening, I noticed that there was a very tender spot somewhere on the ball/runner’s callus of my left foot every time I took a step. After self-examination, I didn’t see anything amiss, so I carried on, hobbling around the house and avoiding putting any pressure on my mysteriously sore foot.

Yesterday morning, SHOCKINGLY, the pain was still there. Looking at my foot under the bright sunlight streaming in through the bathroom window, I convinced myself I could see a teeny-tiny-miniscule dark dot. “AHA!” I told myself, and only myself since Petunia was still lolling around in bed. “I must have a splinter!”

But my personal nurse/splinter-removal expert XFE was in Las Vegas where he was winning butt-tons of money at Pai Gow.

I don’t want to define butt-tons on a public (and supremely popular – I mean, I have TENS of readers) blog, so email me directly for full gloating. Let’s just say it was more than some Turkish rugs, but less than others.

So, that left me to my own Florence Nightingale devices. (Dang, she looks a bit tired, no? Maybe she had to remove her own splinters?)

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