If you were to look closely at the right side of my lower lip today, you would see a little purple sploch. It’s actually a burn, caused by BOILING WATER, widely known for its burning prowess, delivered directly to my lip from the innermost folds of a curly piece of tubular pasta. I was checking to see if the pasta was ready, I drained it (or so I thought) in a slotted spoon over the sink, but one of those little convolutions of the pasta had just enough boiling water hidden in it to cause the above mentioned lip trauma. OUCH.
Then, if your gaze fell to my left index fingernail, you would see the purple mark under the fingernail from an incident yesterday, in which I neatly, earnestly and firmly shut my door on my own finger. I thought I had long since mastered the complex spatial relationship between door, frame and limb, but ironically, I was looking down at the floor trying to figure out why it wouldn’t close. I kicked the miniature Land Rover out of the way and, satisfied, pulled the door shut. With all of my strength.
And then finally, if you had followed me from my car in the parking lot to my desk at work this morning, you would have been tangled in a very fine trail of khaki-colored thread, formerly doing the important work of holding the hem of my skirt in place, now creating a giant web across a state road. And if you had come into my office to ask about the web I was spinning, you would have seen me affixing Scotch tape to my now bedraggled hem. And wondering if staples or sticky notes would have been a better choice.
How’s your day going?
Oh, and greetings, readers of the lovely and amazing writer Jennifer from Pinwheels and Parent Dish. Not sure if this is what she had in mind when sending you here during her vacation, but, seriously folks, you should see this hem. It’s a work of art.