I was beat up by my vacuum cleaner on Sunday.
I had been putting off housework all weekend, but I finally got enough energy to peel myself off the couch Sunday afternoon after one too many disappointing Netflix movies to do some cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen and the living room, put away the laundry, and for the grand finale I was going to vacuum our bedroom, which I hate doing because VACUUMING SUCKS (LOL OMG). I was 90% finished when I tried to lift the vacuum up over a lamp cord, but with ninja-like moves I still don't understand, it flew back and hit me so hard in the big toe that it broke off part of the nail. Broke it clean off.
I know what you're thinking. "Michelle! How could something like this happen to you? You're always so graceful and suave!" I know! I have no explanation either. But there was blood and screaming everywhere. I sat on the floor clutching my bleeding toe, surveying the bloody crime scene (and I mean bloody in the both the British and American senses), and wailing just enough to let James know I'm in pain and need to be shown boatloads of sympathy, but I'm not dying so please don't call 911. I finally calmed myself down and cleaned and bandaged myself up while James scrubbed the blood out of the carpet. Once that was taken care of, I thought I'd finish up the three square feet I had left to go.
Within ten seconds of turning the vacuum on, I had to reach down to pull the cord out of the way when a sharp plastic piece on the vacuum (that STILL cannot be located or the situation replicated) sliced my finger right open. Right open! Once again, there was blood and screaming. And also a little laughing because WHY ME.
I immediately put the vacuum away in a faraway closet and told James in a fit of exasperation that either he cleans from now on, or we will be forced to live in filth for the rest of our days. I still mean those words with my whole heart. He agreed, possibly to appease his crippled wife that now can't wear sandals until her horrifying toenail grows back, and I walked over to the bed to rest. Except when I tried to lean back on my pillow, I accidentally bonked my head rather violently on the headboard.
What kind of world is it when even my bed betrays me in such a vicious manner?
Also, do you have any extra bandaids I could borrow?