The Truth About How I Broke My Toe

I’d like to preface this post by saying that I get very little sleep. I’d also like to make it known that sleepiness causes accidents. It’s a fact. So when I tell you this story – when I confess the truth about how I really broke my toe, be nice.

Alright, you can laugh out loud at me – I did. Because when something this ridiculous happens, you might as well laugh it off and tell your friends about it, right? So here it goes…

I had been working on a few work-related projects on my computer, when I realized that it was almost time for my mom to come over and watch my kids (a rare parents night out was on the horizon – distraction #1). I quickly plopped my baby into her exersaucer (because, baby #3), and pulled out the beast that is my built-in vacuum cleaner, ready to power-clean like I do when expecting guests in my home.

Baby was screeching like a pterodactyl so I was rushing to get the job done. Barefoot, hungry, and overtired, I glanced sideways at my squawking child while thrusting the vacuum with all of my force.

To and fro, side glance, to and fro.

I forcefully pulled the vacuum back towards me while my eyes were focused on the baby, and as I heard the crunching sound of my toes getting mangled into the suctioning vortex of the vacuum head, my life flashed before my eyes. I immediately fell to the floor like Will Ferrell when he gets hit in the jugular with a tranquilizer gun in the movie Old School, cursing and gagging from the painful impact of what had just happened.

It sounded exactly like I had vacuumed up small pieces of Lego. The mangling, crunching sound of my toes snap crackle pop-ing as I fell. I was sure I had broken each and every toe, and that I would never walk again.

As as I rocked in agony, the first thought that came to my head was – “I am such an IDIOT! Who DOES that!?”

I paused as my eyes welled up, and then I burst out laughing. As tears streamed down my face, I cackled like a wicked witch. After a few minutes of hysteria had passed, I cocked my head to the side to see my judging child, staring blankly at me with disappointment in her eyes.

I survived (physically anyways). But the problem with having a broken toe is that it is an injury that is hard to hide. As I hobbled up to my daughter’s school the next day, a fellow mom called out my name. “Hey Bianca!” she called out from across the school grounds, “What did you do to your foot!?” I waited for her to get closer, flashed an awkward smile, and replied, “The other guy did it.”

She looked at me, puzzled.

As always, I had failed at the delivery of a common saying (I had meant to say, “You should see the other guy!”).

I’m a terrible liar, so I told her the truth – that I had sucked up my toe while vacuuming, and that my pinky toe was blackened and broken.

I watched as she burst with laughter, and then covered her mouth, and then frowned sympathetically, and then returned to laughing again.

“I know,” I replied. “It’s ok to laugh, I did.”

So there you have it. The truth hurts sometimes – but nothing like the sting of a broken toe, or the bruise of my ego whenever I have to explain what really happened to my toe.