Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Tack Attack

Yesterday, as I walked across the floor, I felt a sensation in my foot, in the bridge part of my foot, in the very most sensitive, ticklish bit of it. It was not a tickle, but what it was, I could not tell you at the time. It was indiscernible. Like a shock, or a buzz, or a flash of heat. Had it made a sound? I couldn't tell you that either. Puzzled, I lifted my foot and assessed the situation.

A little round silver sticker. Oh. Whatever.

But then I tried to peel the silver sticker off of the bottom of my foot and realized that it was not a sticker, but a thumb tack. And the tack part was all the way in my foot. In the bridge part of my foot, in the very most sensitive, ticklish bit of it. And it was stuck.

Only then did I understand what the sensation was: pain. Absolutely, unmistakably. How had I missed that?

I pulled at it, but it stayed firmly imbedded in my foot skin. I contemplated leaving it there - what if I got it out and all of my blood drained out of my body via the bottom of my foot?

I took a deep breath and plucked it out. I felt like a hero in a movie who has to pull an arrow out of her own leg. I gritted my teeth and tried to do it without wincing. I'm only telling you this so you'll be really impressed and maybe cower a little in my presence next time you see me.

So, then, I looked in front of me and saw three more little silver thumb tacks. And a fourth! And a fifth! Thumb tacks everywhere!

And I have no idea why. Just none. All signs point to Kevin Mcallister.

So I spent a solid chunk of my afternooon scouring the living room for more thumb tacks (didn’t find any, only the five) and then vacuuming, because I didn’t want Sullivan and I to have matching mother/son foot piercings.

Is that a thing, do you think? In some other country, maybe? The USA, perhaps? Americans are weird, man.