Ha. That sounds like it could be bad. And it could be... if you're squeamish. Coming up: Pictures! My toe, now nearly healed, right after I broke it and the snow in April. It would have been better if I posted that right after it snowed, but whatever, I have things to do.
If you are squeamish, you might not want to see my toe. It was purple and hurty and I don't know why I want to share it, I just do. However, I'll give you a little warning before I throw it out there. Plus, it will be last. If you get to the picture of the snow and you don't want the toe, then quit reading.
So, the priests part. Mr and I met with my priest on Saturday. It was something of a comedy of errors at first. We showed up at church and mass was starting. Mr, of course being always suspicious of priests, assumes we've been hoodwinked into going to mass. Which, naturally, upsets him. Whatever. So, we go in thinking my priest is saying mass and then it starts and it's not him. I want to leave. Mr thinks we now have to stay. "What if he's waiting outside for us?" "..."
So, we leave. There are other buildings on the church campus but... I don't know what they are. I was last a member of this particular church when I was 8 years old. It's changed. Plus, when I was 8 I was really only familiar with the part where they said mass, the daycare center (for when you weren't "being have" as my brother used to say), and where they kept the donuts.
I call the priest and I'm like "We're here... um... could you call me if you get this?" and, lo and behold! he did! So, we go back and meet with him. It went really well. Mr didn't even get a chance to talk about how he thinks all Catholic priests are pedophiles, which is good because I would have had to kill him. Which would upset the whole wedding thing.
So, we have options. As Catholics, we should go to Precana. We can meet at the church for an hour or so five weeks in a row, or we can do a Discovery Weekend in Lovely Niles, Illinois. Let me tell you, Mr was really excited about going away for the weekend to talk about feelings and staying in a strange room approximately fifteen minutes from our home. Fr Priest (not his name but... it seems like anonymity is good for people who don't know I'm talking about them) also said that we don't have to do anything. He recommends the weekend, but we can just do nothing if we want. The most wonderful part is that, even though we don't have to do anything, Mr is willing to do whatever I want to do. Isn't that nice?
So, on April 11 it snowed. I couldn't believe it. I knew that we would have another cold snap before winter wore its way out for good, but snow? Seriously? Naturally, the first thing I did was think of you, my loyal readers. Sadly, I lack good follow up, hence the two weeks late. But isn't it the thought that counts?
That's my street. I had actually left the driveway and headed out to go to work, stopped, got out my camera and took some pictures. Seriously, it looks just like it did in December.
Please ignore my nails. I got a pedicure about eight months ago ... ok, maybe four. Still, the pedicure is pretty much grown out and nothing has been done since then. It is way to much effort to take the polish off. I just let it grow out.
So, first, my good toe. For comparison purposes:
Then, the bad toe. It isn't actually that bad. I really thought I had just sort of hurt it. You know, like stubbing your toe. Seeing it change colors though was strangely gratifying. Like, I'm not a huge wimp who cries over a stubbed toe. I really banged it up. It changed colors. At that point, I'm like a five year old kid. I'm totally fascinated by gross stuff, particularly if it's mind. So, without further ado, my bad toe in all it's glory:
These days it looks pretty much like the good toe.