I managed to drop the lid of a large, oval Le Creuset casserole onto my left foot yesterday just as Granny was coming through the door to watch the rugby.
This was precisely three hours before we due to go out for an evening of much anticipated revelry and dancing.
I managed not to cry.
I managed not to swear too badly.
I found the injury peas in the freezer.
I remembered where I put the arnica.
I took some paracetomol and ibuprofen and drank several cups of hot, sweet tea.
We went revelrying and dancing.
It's a nasty colour today and I'm having to stop myself googling 'broken toe', 'possible gangrene', 'amputation'. It doesn't hurt in the way I was expecting. It feels numb and if I look at it I feel queasy. I can move it back and forth but it's a rather scary shade of red and the rest of my foot is turning slightly blue. Thank goodness I didn't drop it on anyone else's foot. Those things hurt.
I might have to go back to walking and cycling.