Dum, Dum, Dum – The Toe Bomb
For those of you who do not know what that is hang around and you’ll find out, fairly quickly. For those of you who do know, and I believe most of you do from personal experience even if you know it by another name already know of what I speak.
These little, or sometimes big but that one is on you no matter what or who is the actual cause, explosions of pain can be almost anything. You know the steel toe shoe that your hubby leaves in the middle of the floor which in my experience is quite often or the suitcase size nail kit that your wife left sitting next to where she was the last time she did her nails. Come on ladies most of us have one and we do tend on occasion to leave it where we last used it. My often worst nightmare is the occasional power tool that my hubby sometimes leaves by his chair, which I have to pass to get to the kitchen, when he has to run in and check something on his laptop and forgets to take it back out with him. How occasional is that? Not as occasional as you might think. OK he’s a geek who knows how to use power tolls. Think about that a minute and you’ll understand and if not write a comment and I’ll explain.
Nothing however is worse than the grandfather of all toe bombs. This weapon of mass toe destruction is the bane of almost all adults everywhere all over the world. An innocent looking little thing that to some degree makes life easier for certain individuals of our society. These simple little contraptions look so harmless and innocent that when one is first introduced to your home you may actually be happy to see the little darling, after all you think it will be a Godsend to you as well. Nope.
So what is this little instrument of doom that from the moment it is made takes an oath to be the destruction of the tiny little digits at the front end of your foot forever ending your ability to wear a decent shoe? The children’s stepstool.
Let’s face it if you’re a parent you probably have at least one in either the bathroom or kitchen or both. As parents you know that unless you want to have to run and hold your child over the bathroom sink to wash their hands or brush their teeth you must have one. Personally over the years I’ve become a fan of the toilet being right next to the sink. It has a lid and as long as they remember to put that down then they can crawl up on the damn thing and take care of whatever they need to do in there. That includes the occasional flooding of the bathroom through said bathroom sink which all of them are going to do more than once and I see no reason to make that one easier.
As some of you know at my age small children are not my problem in my home and I haven’t had the need for one in many years so there hasn’t been one here for almost as long. So why am I ranting on about this now. Last night my hubby came home with of all things, dum, dum, dum, a toe bomb aka the step stool. I looked at this implement of torture brought in by the man who is the reason that I already have to worry about leaving vicious obstacles that inflict pain on my tiny extremities in my path and now he has introduced the worst of all these objects. Oh for the love of all that’s holy, why? When I asked this, although I really knew the horrific rumor running through the family, we have growing grandchildren who visit us. The thought that went through my head was what’s wrong with the toilet seat idea or even better, let’s not invite them back until their old enough to reach the bathroom sink standing on the floor. I didn’t voice this out loud of course because, as a grandmother, voicing such a query could have me locked up for being insane. After all what sane grandmother would even think such a thing little on voice it out loud. I’ll answer that for you. A SANE ONE.
I somehow feel that one of my daughters may be behind this. Oh not because of her little darling who at seven still has to have one because she is quite tiny for her age but to get even with me. I don’t know how many times while talking to her on the phone I have heard a big boom, a screechy scratching sound, and then an explosion of expletives come bursting over the phone usually ending with the MFing Toe Bomb which never fails to cause me to let loose with a gut busting laugh. Hey I had already paid my dues with those things when our girls were growing up because of them so I feel I’ve earned the right to laugh. Still…I think she is behind this. So now sitting in the only bathroom in our house is one of those horrible little monsters. Buddy, Gina if you had a hand in this, payback is hell.
Of course I have to wait to get even until after my husband’s and my anniversary because he is presently shopping for my gift and I don’t want to rock that boat. I know what it is and I’m so looking forward to it. Maybe I can even use it to get even. No it isn’t a gun but still it could be a whole lot of fun. A drone.