So, ever since I hurt my toe, Scott and I have been going back and forth. He texts me. I text him. I laugh my guts out.
It all started when I was writing the post about my toe [apparently] not being broken after all. I’m still having a hard time accepting that, especially when I made such a big deal out of it, boohooing all over the place, limping, crying, throwing up.
So I texted him asking what was the word he said it probably was instead of being broken. Just the night before he said, “Are you sure it’s not just . . . [couldn’t think of the word.] He texted back ‘con-toe-sion?’
I said, “No, it’s when it is out at a right angle but apparently not broken. I think it has a ‘b’ in it.
“Maybe it’s a cancerous toe-mor.”
No, no, no, the word you told me last night, remember?
ha ha ha
Ok, he finally told me “dislocated.” Oh ya, that’s the word. It didn’t have a ‘b’ in it after all, and I could finish my post now.
But we kept texting back and forth.
Yes toe day, toe day and toe morrow
Toe be or not toe be
Toe much information
I finally thought of a clever one. Holy Toe li toe
Toe-ma-toes, pota-toes, and wa-toe-melon.
See you la-toe aliga-toe
I could go on and on . . .