The Disaster of 2008, errr "remodel", is still a reigning dictatorship in our home. The brigade of forces has now overtaken us completely and we have had to succumb to the ugly corruption of messiness.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Or, that's just my latest excuse for our house not being (oh what do you call it) tidy.
My freshly painted workout room is now the temporary, proud home of ALL our bathroom supplies. So in the interest of working out, I felt I needed to do some weight lifting. And at this point for sanity's sake, all that actually entails is moving my treadmill so as to fit the newly acquired items that are rooming with it.
And move it I did, and set it down I did, on my foot, yes I did, and hurt, OHHHHH yes it did. It really wouldn't have even been that bad except that a couple hours earlier Jericho thought it would be funny to paw at a ball that was next to my bare foot only to realize that his depth perception and excitement do NOT go hand in hand. Instead paw on foot equals scratches and soreness, and not Mama wants to play. (Oh humble me now, yes, I do realize I have become that person who refers to their pet as a child.)
Bloody scratches from an over-exuberant puppy (okayyyyy, in the interest of encouraging a wee bit of sympathy, I may have added "bloody" where it didn't belong) and a 200 pound machine (and fiiiiiiine, it may not weigh 200 pounds--130 minimum though or like 40, shhhh) that's intended for your foot to actually walk upon and not for the machine itself to rest upon just doesn't make for a good combo. Especially when there's no one in the house to even complain to. Sigh.
The worst part may have been that I did see it coming. And because my reflexes are as quick as a cat I decided the best course of action would be to not react to my brain telling me that once I let go, the treadmill had a 93.24% chance of landing on my foot.
Let's just say I went with that remaining 6.76%.