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Smuckers and the toe

I had some half-baked, pseudo-intellectual ramblings taking shape in my mind this week, gearing themselves up to become a blog post, but then I went grocery shopping and a two-pound jar of Smucker’s strawberry jam interfered with my toe and with my mental processes, such as they are, and all I can think about is that painful digit, which is now swollen and approximately the same color as the jam. (How’s that for a run-on sentence?)

Yeah, one of the grocery bags ripped, and the jar fell on the joint of my toe. Please, no wisecracks about toe jam.

I don’t think it’s actually broken. Still, the timing is ironic. Just yesterday, I was proof-reading one of my completed novels and rather enjoying the scene wherein our hero breaks his big toe. If I’d done the shopping yesterday, I might have had all kinds of new sensory details to add to that scene, unless I’d had a different bagger who’d had more sense than to pack so much weight into one flimsy bag. But I’ve already sent the manuscript off to my agent, so my first-hand (first-foot?) experience is a day too late.

And that’s the way it goes. Another glamorous day in the life of a writer.

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