Ouch.

Let me just tell you: having a busticated toe sucks. Really.

Last Thursday evening, while innocently wandering around the house, our 17-year old bone-bag of a cat, Rudy, in his little absentminded old cat fashion stepped in front of me really sudden as I was JUST about to step myself. Naturally, the first thing a cat owner thinks is 'ohmyidon'twanttokicktheoldboneykitty' and in a split second alters the angle of her foot.

Which brings it into full contact with the all-hardwood rocking chair, with the full force of a fast walking step behind it.

After the loudness and cussing subsided a bit, and I explained The Husband what the commotion was, of course he told me that I should have just kicked the cat. But....but...he's 17 YEARS OLD!!! AND MAYBE WEIGHS 3.5 POUNDS...I COULDN'T!!
"Well, yes" he says. "Mom used to do it all the time."
"Well, at that point Rudy was not a 17-years old bonebag of a kitty who is sick and on his deathbed prectically once a month now", says I.

At that point he needed to leave for training. And that was just as well, as I was still in pain, and in no mood to argue about my heroic efforts in saving an old cat from a broken ribcage or pelvis, nevermind that it resulted in me doing something (as I realized later that evening) really painful for my toe.
By the time he came back my left middle toe had the hues of a ripe plum, and swelled up quite nicely. He posited that I might have broken it and suggested to tape it up and take it easy. "Nah", said I at that point, "I am just fine, I don't think it's broken, from kicking a rocking chair, it cannot be..."
I hobbled to work the next day, and hobbled around, and answered questions from bosses and coworkers and did all of this, of course, in closed toed shoes with no tape on the toe whatsoever.
Same thing over the weekend. "We don't need no stinking tape,"my thought process hummed, "we can stand the dull throbbing pain just fine, come on, we are of stout Steppe stock of raiders who ate, slept and performed other bodily functions in their saddle, shot chubby German knights aiming backwards from said saddles, and generally were unpleasant to little Swiss monks on a fairly regular basis. "In other words: The Bunny played it Tough over the weekend. And went to work on Monday yet again in closed toed shoes with no tape.

By Tuesday the pain dulled to an unpleasant throbbing, but I was still not able to put any considerable weight to the left foot when walking. Standing was mostly OK, but stepping still involved lurching along like Igor. The ugly color faded, but the toe decidedly assumed a crooked shape.
Finally on Wednesday when The Husband, my coworker and my boss all started being rude to me regarding how I am not taking care of myself, I started to realize that those ancestors actually DID take care of their battle wounds before, during and after chopping down those pesky Swiss monks or looting royal vaults in Swabia. I could feel one or two of them looking at me, with a decidedly 'Tsk, tsk' expression on their face, magnificently gleaming in their decorated caftans, white linen shirts and boots heavy with gold mounts. The pearls in their braided beards jingled as they shook their heads at my stubbornness. Clearly I was not up to their practical expectations. I missed the crucial detail of 'survive the experience to tell the tale and chop more heads off' bit.

So I looked at The Husband and said: 'So: do you think I should tape this up?'