I believe I've jinxed myself.
As I's thinking on the Daddy-o's 5 worst injuries this morning, I thought to myself,
"self, you've been so lucky to not have any big-ish injuries. I guess it's just a matter of time, though, huh?"
No, I did not knock on wood, as evidenced here:
-While hard at work in the world's most disgusting bathroom that ever was, I was thinking,
"Man this is coming along well. I am going to looooove this bathroom. This is so fun!"
Shut up, self.
And simultaneously, I decided this towel rack needed to come off the wall:
1. I was working in that area,
2. It is being replaced by hooks
Well, to make a long story short (TOO LATE), I shook and shook and pried and pulled that towel rack to release it from it's death grip, and I couldn't get it off.
It's off the wall now.
I took it off with my head.
'Mmm hmm. I stood up after putting down my beautiful baseboard, and slammed my head right into that towel rack, that sonofa. . .
"Don't cry don't cry don't cry. . . " I says.
And you know, I didn't cry. Even though it hurt like a mother trucker. And I was so proud.
And then, and then. . .
I dropped some things on my knee cap and my forearm. Some things very large. Some things very heavy.
Oh, and it hurt like #$&* #&$*@)* #$&*!(#*@.
And then I let it all out. I'm sure you don't see men having a good cry every time they have a building injury.
Jace came down. "Mom, you have a black spot by your eye."
Oh, haha-- I must have smeared a tad bit of mascara.
Or, you know, bathed my face in it.
I'm done for the day.
I don't want to talk about it.