And I need a pedicure

When I'm stressed out about something, I get very clumsy. It seems that when my mind is filled with worry, I lose track of such things as the length and span of my limbs. When Charlie was a baby, I was always covered in bruises, and I even walked right into a screen door. So really, it should have come as no surprise that yesterday I broke my toe. There I was, happily strolling out of Gymboree music class, when I whacked my left foot against those rather sturdy wooden play structures. And I must say that I am rather proud that I managed to choke back all of the expletives that normally would come flying out of my mouth. Yes, I broke a toe and nary a "SWEET MOTHER OF F*CK!" was heard. Quite an accomplishment! I really should add that to my resume. Alas, there is nothing you can do for a broken toe except rest it, consume Advil, and wait. Unless of course it's out of joint, then I'll have to go back to the doctor to have him reset it. You can bet there will be swearing if I have to go through that.