New England weather is at its "dumb-ass" level -- 40 degrees in the morning and 85 degrees in the afternoon. This means that we are unable to properly dress for simple things like work, shopping, or stepping outside for a moment.
I decide to bring in the last of my porch plants. I figure that if the frost comes, which it does a few days later, I want to save the few plants that I hadn't brought back to school. This seems like a smart decision.
Until I start moving the few pieces of furniture that I have out there.
It all starts innocently enough. "Bring in the plants; sweep the porch off." There isn't a whole lot of room to move around out there. The porch is some silly measurement like 3.5 feet by 6 feet., so I am even tripping over myself. I have a couple of wire shelf units for plants, so those have to come inside, as well. Then, I have to maneuver the other furniture from side to side so that I can get the broom working.
It all goes well, for the most part. Yes, the wind might take a bit of the dirt I sweep over the balcony and deposit said dirt onto the patio below. Ooopsies. But, really, it wasn't like I dumped leaves or big branches. Just some dirt. The bulky metal table and the matching medium-weight chairs move easily enough. Pretty soon, the porch is looking all right, so I sit out there for a couple of hours (since it's 80 degrees now).
I am now minding my own business, reading on my Kindle while enjoying my plant-less porch. It seems like a win-win for me.
Just as an FYI - I was born with long toes. It's the reason why I have a larger shoe size for someone of my limited height. This means that I'm always catching my toes on things, and I have broken no less than eight of my toes over my lifetime. This knowledge alone should prove that what I am about to type is no big mystery. And yet, the true mystery is that I have zero recollection of doing this.
I seem to have taken a substantial chunk of skin out of my foot right near my big toe.
I figure it's just a scratch, so I let it congeal and continue reading. Later, as I prepare to shower, I realize that I should probably clean the toe off. After all, it's going to sting like Charles Dickens when I get under the water.
Except instead of a scratch or normal injury, I discover a hole. A pretty substantial hole. A hole about the size of my pinkie fingernail, and about as deep as the thickness of a quarter.
You would think that I might remember such an injury, but you'd be wrong.
Apparently, I have somehow managed to gouge a nice divot into my big toe, probably on some piece of furniture, and have now bled to softball stage. Even worse, the dang thing is starting to show signs of infection. I treat it with both anti-infection stuff (smells like tar) and triple-antibacterial cream. It hurts a bit, but not that badly. But, man, oh, man, does it look hideous.
Let this be a lesson to all of you: If you're thinking of doing fall cleaning and bringing in random porch furniture -- DON'T. If summer isn't over, which ours clearly is not yet, don't bite Mother Nature -- she bites back (and uses outdoor furniture in her arsenal).
