Review of “How I Punched a Hole in my Foot”
Yesterday, I doubled-up on blogs, with both a review of my current outlook on writing projects, and a review of the movie “How to Train Your Dragon” that Dear Wife and I saw over the weekend. But the movie wasn’t the only out-of-the-ordinary thing that happened this weekend past, so I’m hitting you with double-blogs today, too.
As I’ve alluded to, in the past, Dear Wife and I often take our bundle of furry joy, Shasta, to the nearby Dog Park to run and play. Shasta loves romping in the dog park even more than she loves romping in the backyard. There are as many, if not more, squirrels and the whole thing is much bigger than our yard. Plus, usually there are other dogs to play with. Shasta loves the game of “chase me around the park bench, while I dart under it and hide and sometimes dart out again and chase you”. The rules of that game seem a little flexible, if you ask me. Kind of like the game of “Fluxx“.
The dog park in our neighborhood is only a few blocks from our house, so most days either I or Dear Wife (or both of us) will walk Shasta there. But in the last couple months, with Dear Wife walking for two, whenever she goes we’ll take a car down instead. We did that this weekend, and because I was in a hurry to catch up and drive Dear Wife, I slipped into some flip-flops instead of putting on shoes as I’d normally do for a dog park excursion. It turned out to be a mistake.
For one, there was little protection for my feet while Shasta and whatever doggie-friend she found played that game Shasta loves so much (you know, the “chase me around the park bench” game). But that wasn’t so bad. Later, when it was time to go, I started walking around the park to give Shasta one last chance to run around the park before heading home. I’m not sure what happened, but I’m walking along, and suddenly there’s the pointy-end of a stick sliding up over the bottom of my flip-flop and ramming into the bottom of my right heel. You know, it hurt a little.
I hobbled with Shasta back to the gate of the dog park. I told my wife “I’m not coming here in flip-flops again.” She looked at me quizzically. I showed her the hole in my foot. We hightailed it back to the car, me trying not to get too much blood on my flip-flop (that would be a pain to clean, I reasoned).
As near as I can tell, what happened was that as I was trying to catch Shasta’s attention, I wasn’t paying attention to all the sticks and twigs on the ground. I must have accidentally kicked a stick with my left foot as I was taking a normal step into my right foot.
Anyway, I was hobbling around all day yesterday, but today my foot is feeling alright, and I’m walking mostly normal again.