Yesterday, I bought another car toy set for the boy, something with a boat theme that came with a helicopter (huh?), but karma kicked me in the balls.

Actually, it stubbed my foot. Maybe more than stubbed.

We’re talking, and he’s happy with his new toy. I go into the bedroom to get something and I judged the distance wrong and kicked the wooden bed.

I pulled my foot back but not before I heard a sickening crack. The pain shot through my whole body, and I collapsed on the bed. Landing on one of the Lil’ Moo’s other car toy sets featuring a snake (I kid you not), snapping a couple of the fake walls and thus making it almost worthless. Krazy Glue, anyone?

Anyway, a second shot of pain soared through my leg, and I screamed. My son comes in, asking if I’m okay, and I told him that I hurt myself and that my foot is killing me.

Him: “Can you walk?”

At three years old, he’s already making a diagnosis. Paging Dr. Moo?

I’m dying to scream bloody murder but won’t because my son really doesn’t need therapy yet, my foot is swelling up, and I feel like I’m going to throw up every time I put pressure on it. Maybe I sprained it, but I don’t know. We’ll see how things are by the end of Tuesday.

If I haven’t sawed it off with a blunt spork by then.