Big, fat, juicy sour grapes...

A letter to me from my broken foot...



Dear Jeanette (I think I know you well enough to call you that),

You said you weren't mad at me for making you miss going to The Phantom of the Opera with Marlee, Paige and Rick this weekend. You said you were happy for Landon to go in your place.

And that staying in the hotel room with your youngest three, playing with bendaroos, eating junk food and watching movies would be fun.

You said you were happy to do it. That's what you said. But now I know that you must have been lying. LYING. Why else would you have dragged me around the entire next day from yard sales to thrift stores, to music/book stores and the mall? Walking and walking all day long without ever putting me up. YOU NEVER ELEVATED ME. No not once.

And that's why I hurt you today and why I looked like some kind of squishy Jabba the Hut foot when you got home (this picture doesn't show how bad I was but everyone in the house freaked out when they saw me, running for ice and ibuprofen and snapping pictures because I looked so huge-o-mungous). So Ha! Take that! If you're going to try to get revenge on me then I'm just going to give it right back to you girl. Because guess what... it's not my fault I'm broken, IT'S YOURS. Try to remember that.

Sincerely,

Your broken foot

P.S. At least I'm not as purple as I have been. This should prove that I'm trying, so could you please meet me half way on this. Please. Thanks I'd appreciate that (your biceps, hands, armpits and very worn out left leg told me that they would appreciate that too thank you very much).