I am accident prone. Like give myself a black eye with the toilet seat prone, or kick a stump and break my foot in three places prone, or step on a drill and skewer my foot.
That one happened last week.
It was a Thursday and it started out like any other day. That's our elective day at Front Room Academy which basically means I play chauffeur all day. We finally arrived home and I walked through my bedroom and into my bathroom where I saw that my closet had, once again, vomited it's contents all over the floor.
Lemme 'splain somethin'. I have rehung that dang rod and it's stupid counterpart, the shelf, no less than three times. The first time the closet collapsed in the middle of the night. Scared the ever loving beans out of me. I cried and cursed (G rated) and then hammered and nailed that bugger back into place.
The second time, it fell while we were in class. Once again, I jumped at the noise and upon studying the mess cried less and cursed more (PG this time). I changed out the rod and reinforced the shelf with an extra piece of wood and three angled rod holders.
The third time it fell while we were out, but that time I didn't cry. I did move on to a PG-13 rant. I drilled, and screwed so many holes into the wall it was ridiculous. I even GLUED the shelf into place, and added two more rod thingers. There was no way that thing was falling down without taking half the wall with it, but I was prideful. I over estimated my skill in the face of the closets sheer will...and it fell again.
I would like to state here, that this time there were no tears or sentence enhancers, no sir. There was steely resolve. This time I was doing something completely different.
Mr. D and I went to the hardware store and picked out a closet shelving set. We brought it home and I set to work putting it together the next day. I enlisted Meenie to help me in the task, for bonding. Things were clicking along quite nicely. This closet kit was wondrous! It had dry wall anchors and the rods were fastened to a shelving unit in the middle, distributing the weight of my swag more evenly. It was wonderful.
So Meenie and I brought the first half of the unit into the closet and fastened it to the wall. I put my drill on the floor and we walked the second half of the shelf in. At some point the drill fell over. I hit it with my foot and shoved it back until it hit the wall at which point it had now where else to go but in...to my foot. In the meaty sensitive part. Also, it was the 1/16 size drill bit which is pretty much needle thin. The cussing I had avoided before came streaming forth and I moved into R-rated territory. I'm ashamed to admit I kiss my husband with this mouth. I have soiled my lips with sailor talk, but it hurt so bad. I couldn't decide if I wanted to pass out or scream. My daughters tried to be helpful, but I wanted an adult so I called for my sister. She came and cleaned and bandaged my wound, and I spent half the day with my foot elevated before I could suck it up and continue with my task.
The poke was small but it hurt for days, mostly because of the inexplicable bruises that now cover the bottom and side of my foot. My sister and my friend felt I was being a pansy until the bruises showed up. Bruises hurt, too, people!
I've had several near misses as of late so I guess it was time for an epic clusterfudge. Maybe I should start wearing armor.
