The last few days have been abnormally shitty, even by the standards of this summer. I managed to get a rock stuck in my foot on Tuesday night. No, not like, poked by a rock, not cut by a rock; a very small piece of rock embedded itself in the ball of my foot.
Being such a small piece and all, it sure inflicted a hell of a lot of pain. It was placed right at the point where I put most of my pressure on, which might explain how it got there. All I saw was a small black speck that I had no chance of getting out. So of course what do I do?
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
As any young man in a similar predicament might do, I called on momma. Dig it out myself? With a needle? Dude, I'm not Aron Ralston (Wiki it).
Sure enough, we got some peroxide, Q-Tips, and we got that bugger out of there. Well, enough at least. Otherwise, I'd be whining a lot more. More than I normally do.
Yeah, I know, I complain about her sometimes. Like any teenager, my parents drive me nuts on a regular basis. But I really shouldn't underestimate that woman.
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