I took a break from posting last week because I felt like my life turned into a page from Job. I'm pretty sure when he was being tested with a series of punishing trials he didn't take time out to do anything but complain and eat sugar, which is exactly what I did.
The week started out fine enough, but then Tuesday night I started to feel sick. I told myself I'd just eaten some bad broccoli or something and continued on with life. This was apparently the wrong call because Wednesday night I actually got sick. In the middle of a burlesque show. That I was go-going at. Yeah. Thankfully it didn't happen until I was off the stage. It did, however, mean that the majority of my tip collecting time was spent hiding in the bathroom.
For the most part the weekend was great. Doug and I went to a wedding in Richmond of one of his friends from college. It was so much fun! Everyone looked like they'd stepped out of a J.Crew catalog, and the ceremony was held at the plantation where Thomas Jefferson was born. It was beautiful and all of Doug's friends were great. Then IT happened.
I was getting ready to go to the airport on Sunday when I managed to somehow rip off a very large percentage of my big toenail. I will not go into details because I am just as squeamish about this stuff as everyone else, but the morning ended with one visit to an emergency clinic, 20 Vicodins, and zero big toenails on my left foot.
I have a bandage wrapped around my toe and, because I am the only woman under forty who does not own a pair of flip-flops, a new pair of squishy pink sandals. I'm pretty much off the pain pills, but am continuing to treat myself with steady doses of junk food which I'm sure any good doctor would recommend. At this point the only way I'll be willing to call it even with the universe is if next week comes with a unicorn and a spontaneous ten pound weight loss.
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