Smell This

Smell This

You should see my foot. No, really. It is something, and by something, I mean iiiiicky but also sort of fascinating. And you know I just have to share that. It’s human instinct. The same thing that makes us go, “Oh, the milk has gone off. Here, smell it.”

Spread the pain. That’s our motto.

Now, for instance, an interesting pattern of bruising is spreading across the top of my foot fast enough to watch, if you had that sort of patience. It’s like time lapse photography on the Discovery Channel except, you know, grosser. It’s green and blue with a terribly unflattering yellow thrown in, and the whole thing looks remarkably like tie dye.

So I go hobbling into the living room, describing in detail the grossness I’m about to lay on my husband because it’s show and tell around here, don’t ya know. Except he spins around in his desk chair, throws up his hands and pantomimes that Oh-my-God-are-you-actually-crazy thing.

And I’m all, “What? Sixteen years together. You’ve seen worse.”

I mean really. If you have that weak of a stomach, marriage is not for you.

That’s when I realized he was on a conference call with his business partners, who now know way more than they need to about the blood pooling under the surface of my skin.

But come on, it could’ve been worse. I didn’t mention my lady parts once – not that I got any credit for that.

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