I have to learn not to let my wife goad me.
We were doing a football tailgate party at my house. Matt and a couple of kids were out back, on the play set. The baby gate that Laurie has up there, to keep Matt from trying to get to the monkey bars, fell over, and instead of going out there, herself, she got me to go out there to put it back up. Really, no big deal, right?
I go to put my shoes on, which meant that I wasn't going out the back door "right this second". She starts giving me grief about how I always just go out in bare feet (and I did, until A) I found out I was diabetic and B) it started getting colder, outside). So, pissed off, I go out in my bare feet.
Before I can actually climb up the play set ladder, I feel this exquisitely sharp pain in the bottom of my right foot. Sure enough, there's a piece of wood in it. Damn it!!!
So, now I have this cute(?) gash in the bottom of my foot. I'm just glad that A) it's not my sliding foot for bowling, and B) I don't have to play softball, today.