|Hours of fun or evil in a little plastic cube? You decide.|
For Brian’s birthday, I got him a small Lego Pirates of the Caribbean set. I used to frickin’ love Legos as a kid. Still do, actually. Every Christmas I tell the kids I want to give them a Lego Christmas, but there are two reasons we haven’t done this yet.
Reason #1: Is there gold or something mixed up in the plastic? Seriously, you’d need to take out a second mortgage to have a real Lego Christmas. When Borders was having its big closeout sale, I went there and was geeking out over this huge Lego POTC Black Pearl set, until I saw the price tag: $150. And that was the sale price!
Reason #2: Have you ever stepped on one of those things? Ever since we spent an epic Thanksgiving at my aunt’s house in a spare bedroom with nothing but a radio and a giant Rubbermaid container full of Legos, it’s been my dream to provide the same kind of fun and hours of enjoyment for my kids. But we were unnaturally good kids. We made sure to pick up every last piece. Knowing mine, they’d leave little land mines of Lego pieces out for my accident-prone bare feet to find. Heck, they’d build Lego land mines and set them out!
One of the only things that can compare to the pain of stepping on a Lego is this little beast:
For those lucky few whose soles have never been punctured by the above specimen, we call them goat heads. Evil. Evil in plant form. If they can pop a hole in a bike tire, imagine what stepping on one with your bare foot feels like!
But Brian had so much fun with his tiny little Pirates Lego set that, once again, I made the promise of a Lego Christmas. Visions of brightly colored building blocks and the awesome things you can create with them started dancing in my head. However, said promise depends upon whether Dennis gets a bonus next month or not. If he doesn’t, it will be what we call a “true spirit of Christmas” Christmas. Meaning, don’t ask Santa for anything. Anyway…
|Even Lego Jack Sparrow is dashing! I’m going to steal him from Brian…|
So a few years ago I was just wandering around the house doing some nonsense or other in my bare feet, which I’ve finally learned is a bad, bad thing, when I scuffed my foot rather hard on the carpet and immediately had that oh crap something isn’t right I just stepped on something bad but am too afraid to look feeling. My first thought was, “I stepped on a Lego. Not just that, but it’s a broken Lego with a jagged edge and part of it has gone into my foot.” I reached down, intending to brush the offending Lego off the ball of my foot.
It didn’t budge.
Did you know that people have panic buttons? Well, I do at least. And my panic button was pushed, big time. I hobbled into the bedroom shrieking something like, “Help, oh help Dennis, I stepped on something and I don’t think it’s a Lego because I can’t get it out of my foot, what is it, I think it’s a toy, or maybe a piece of glass, I’m going to kill the kids, get it out!!!”
The hubby gave me an amused look and brought my foot closer for inspection. Then he said, “Um.”
“It’s not a Lego.” He gave the embedded object a tiny, experimental twitch. It still wouldn’t budge, but I felt that, I tell you. “It’s something metal, and it’s really in there.”
Someone was repeatedly pounding on my panic button. I don’t remember much of what I started screaming after that, but it attracted all the kids, who had been in bed, and the next thing I knew I felt this kind of sliding feeling deep inside the ball of my foot, and Dennis went “Whoa. Honey…”
He held out the thing that felt like a Lego, and I freaked the freak out. It was one of these, and the blood shining all along the shaft indicated it had gone into my foot an entire inch:
Not your average pin, but a gol durn friggin tree-branch-thick and sharper-than-needle-sharp sewing machine needle!
When Lia dropped a sewing machine needle in the hall last week and couldn’t find it, I went in there and searched until I located it, because it would be MY foot that would eventually find it, and I wasn’t doing that shiz again.
So, this Christmas, I want to throw away large amounts of money on hundreds of little plastic toys that feel like sewing machine needles or goat heads when you step on them. For extra fun, I think we should mix in needles and goat heads, scatter them on the floor, then have a barefoot dance party. Because yes, my friends, I really am that crazy.