I’m kind of pushing the definition of the title this time ’round, but dammit, if I can’t have three posts in this series, where’s the fun? Alas, I also don’t have a picture, because I’m in an airport on the way to Oregon Coast for a workshop. You’ll have to use your imaginations on this one.

Yesterday evening I removed my old, worn peacock-blue sparkly toenail polish with the dregs of a bottle of polish remover (yay, something we don’t have to pack), and then toddled back to my office to continue working. I noticed that my right big toe was hurting a tiny bit. Say, a 0.5 on the 1–10 scale. As if I’d had a small cut on my toe that I’d gotten polish remover in.

Finally I put on my reading glasses and, being a flexible lass, pulled my foot up towards my face.

A moment later, I pulled an inch-long splinter out from under my toenail.

I always thought I’d crumple under the bamboo-under-the-fingernails torture, but now I have hope. “Ha ha!” I’ll laugh, “it’s just a slight annoyance!”

Anyway, this also doesn’t quite fit the title, but we signed up for the Southwest credit card because Ken’s company won’t actually pay the moving bonus until his first paycheck, so we figured we’d rack up some flyer points by putting all the moving expenses on the card and then paying it off once the bonus comes through.

The cards arrived a couple of days ago.

As of yesterday, I cannot find mine.

It might be on my messy desk, or I might’ve accidentally stuck in it the file for that account, or maybe it’s in the lock box.

Thankfully Ken has his, since he’s renting a 24-foot truck, loading it up, and driving up to Portland next week to offload it all into a storage unit.

Meanwhile, today I cracked a raw egg in the sink instead of a hard-boiled one and nearly spilled my tea all over some nice man’s day planner (it went all over the seat between us), so I figured it’s only uphill from here, right?