Hi! I'm back and I swear I plan to tell you about my trip -- I've already compiled a list of bizarre things I saw over the past two weeks -- but something more pressing is on my mind.
On the first full day of my trip I slammed my big toe into the side of the island in my cousin's kitchen and by the next day it was looking pretty gross. I've been comparing it to the alien that busts out of Sigourney Weaver's stomach -- all flesh and blood and other goopy stuff, none of which is very convenient when you're traversing across three states.
It looked like it was getting better over this past weekend, but then Tuesday things went downhill. Walking through three airports* on Wednesday didn't help, so as soon as I got home we found a doctor and headed right back out. Now I have antibiotics and creams and, most importantly, an appointment to get the whole mess sliced off on Saturday. (yum)
So where do the Crocs fit into this story? Well, as you may be aware, we have a chewing, biting puppy who doesn't understand that the slightest touch will make me pass out from the pain. I spent an hour running around on one leg (which is not as easy as it sounds) before I remembered my camouflage Crocs I bought when I was home last year.
They're perfect because the bulbous area up front doesn't touch my toes and they are sturdy enough to kind of keep Owen off me. They may also keep anyone else from coming near me, but since I can barely walk, I suppose I'll take it.
*While writing this post Wednesday night I found out there was a hijacking situation with a Mexican flight and that the plane was in Mexico City. I was there when that happened but all I saw were some Federales dealing with something important (ie: running around looking all serious 'n stuff).