If you caught yesterday’s post, you may remember that I found a stray shard of glass in the carpet, luckily before it found my foot. Cool.
Well, today, I whacked a jar of coconut oil with my elbow, right on the funny bone, the impact leaving my arm tingling as the jar smashed to the floor, this time with grainy, mean little pieces.
I fear for my feet.
And it was a pretty full jar as well. Alas.
I carefully swept up the pieces, following with a handheld vacuum, and hoped for the best, but it wasn’t enough. Just as I spotted a rather good-sized chunk, a tiny spear pierced my sock.
Now, I’m an old-hand at breakage, and my body knows to take the weight off the moment I start to feel the pain, so there I stood in the kitchen, foot in hand, feeling for the needling culprit.
I used my fail-safe, a wet paper towel along the floor, the sound of the picked-up-pieces scraping against the grout. I am not confident I got it all.
Yesterday I wrote of the near-dangers we never know lurk near us; today it’s an open-and-obvious one, brought by my own hand.
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