Pinky Toes, Midnight Wrecks & Nutters

It never fails. I will wake up in the middle of the night, stumble to the bathroom and always—always!—step on something that causes me to have a massive wreck in the son's room, at the base of the stairs, the living room, or, the worst room of all for debris, the kitchen.

Yes, you read that correctly. I said the kitchen. I'll explain in a bit.

However, it's not just me who seems to have this problem. The hubby and my oldest dau have magnet toes. If there's something that they can catch their pinky toes on, they will, especially the hubby. I'm constantly telling him he needs curb sensors on his toes, but then if he walked around wearing those sticking out from his little toes, I'd probably sound like a loon losing its mind.

Now, before I proceed with this blog post, I have to explain something. I'm one of those weird people who laugh at pain, whether it's mine or someone else's doesn't matter. I can't help it, and if I'm honest, I think it's genetic. My mother is a Nutter (okay, Emmy, if you read this, I'm saying this one more time: Yes, Nutter is a real last name and it's English! Uh, wait. Mom's family is nuts, so maybe...nah, it's just a coincidence...right?), and the entire family has this warped sense of humor that also dances on the dark side.

I don't laugh at serious injuries, mind you. It's just those everyday mishaps that strike me as hilarious—and I have no idea why.

Trip and fall? Oh, dear. Let's make sure you're okay—glances at you quickly and sees no pool of blood or bones poking out—and promptly, "Bwahaha!" until tears stream down the face.

Stub your toe? That's a sure method of making me, or anyone on my mother's side, to burst out laughing, especially if I have an image of curb sensors on toes flashing through my brain.

Step on something sharp? OMG, don't yell or dance around; otherwise, I won't be able to help you because I'll be leaning against the wall or on the floor cracking up.

Bang your head off of a cabinet door or light? You better hold your hand on it just in case you need stitches because it'll take me a few minutes to compose myself.

Point in case, just ask my friend Trinity. Since she lives only three hours north of me, we see one another every now and then, so she's been exposed to my warped sense of humor (then again, she laughs so hard at me sometimes she has to be a li'l warped too, right?) and she'll tell you my oldest dau has this same trait.

While getting ready to go home from one of the Lori Foster Get Togethers, my dau opened the room door so I could push this massive suitcase on wheels out into the hall. I rolled it over my toe.

Pain! Glorious pain! I squealed, performed a jig only someone who suffers a serious body tick could understand, and promptly began laughing so hard I could barely walk or talk. The dau totally lost it, too, but the thing is she had no idea what she was even laughing at.

Trinity, who was ahead of us, turned around and said, "All right, Faith. What did you do now?" Which set me off again!

The poor hubby automatically yells, "Just shut up!" when he stubs a toe or cracks his head. He also misses doorways because he has this uncanny knack of looking at me as he's talking and walking then crashes headlong into a doorframe, wall, or sometimes the sides of vehicles. He's also been known to miss a step or two.

The other night, my youngest, who is six, fell off the couch and poked my oldest dau in the eye with his big toe. I totally lost it. As a matter of fact, I'm wiping away tears as I type this!

En garde! It's El Toe-O! (Okay, so maybe you had to be there)

Back to the kitchen...my hubby has a TV in our kitchen where he spends 90% of his time when he's home. Since my youngest boy fights with my youngest dau (12) over the big living room television, my son spends a lot of time playing on the floor in front of the kitchen TV because he shares interest in many of the same programs as my hubby (and if I have to see one more episode of Ax Men I might find an ax of my own...).

Therefore, the boy leaves a lot of Hot Wheels and pieces of his construction town, etc., lying on the floor. Oh, the hubby does his best to scoot the debris off to the side out of the way, but somehow, someway, one or two items are missed or they just sprout legs and wander back out into the traffic area.

Need a drink of water? Take my advice and get it out of the bathroom. No, scratch that. You might step on something in the boy's room since we have to walk through it to get to the bathroom from our bedroom. What's a Hot Wheel between two toes, eh? And seriously, if the boy enjoys playing with the tiny traffic cones—with friggin' points—that goes to his Hot Wheels City, what's stepping on one when you're half-asleep, beary-eyed, and needing to pee? Just don't piss on the carpet as you're disco dancing in the middle of the bedroom, okay?

Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's the Nutter gene of pain=hilarity.

One day my mom opened the freezer of an upright fridge and a frozen chicken fell out and mashed her pinky. An hour later, that sucker looked like a blue-black sausage. What did she do? Laughed and cried at the same time (I couldn't have helped her if my life depended on it).

A couple of months later, she was outside, tripped and fell on the SAME finger. I lost it. Seriously, how do you FALL ON ONE SINGLE FINGER???

Another time my dad was working on the engine of mom's Gran Torino. She walked up behind my father, goosed him, and he jumped, cracking his head. She took off laughing like a hyena as dad cussed the air blue.

I guess I'm a bit curious if this "problem" I have is just me, something genetic, or if others out there have a bit of the same warped sense of humor.

Tap.Tap. Tap. Is this thing on?

Am I alone out here?