Joey and I are out in the middle of nowhere for our anniversary getaway. We’re having a great time of it, the B&B we’re staying at is in the middle of a buncha woods and off a gravel road: right up our alley. (They have cows and a llama too – even better.)

Joey had to finish up some homework real quick after we got here, so he plopped down on the couch to read for a little bit and I went on an “adventure walk”.

I found the little beagle puppy up at the main house and made him come with me so I wouldn’t get lost. I had my camera and was taking pictures of things here and there along my walk. There were some great wildflowers that I had all framed up and was ready to take a picture (using the Rule of Thirds that Joey is always telling me about) but the puppy came in and sat on all the flowers right before I took the picture. So I got a picture of the beagle sitting on some great wildflowers…figures.

The trail got boring after awhile, so little puppy and I decided to off-road it. We were a several-minutes walk into the woods when…

“YOW!” I cried, stopping in my tracks.

I glanced around, trying to figure out what was wrong, then I realized the painful area was my left foot. I lifted it up and yowled again – there was a ginormous thorn sticking out of the bottom of my flip-flop. After several deep breaths, I pulled it out…and in doing so, I broke off the end of the thorn. In my foot.

I considered sitting down right there and hollering for Joey, but I was very far away from him and didn’t have my cell phone. It was clear that I was going to have to walk back. (Turns out it’s a good thing I didn’t just sit down and pout, the woods I was in is Copperhead Snake territory and I don’t particularly like snakes.)

So I limped back to the cottage we’re staying in.

“I stepped on a thorn and it broke off in my foot,” I told Joey.

He didn’t miss a beat, nor did he explode with anxiety for my poor painful foot. I guess he’s used to me by now. Instead he said, “Oh, that stinks. Does it hurt?”

Of course it hurt.

I managed to get the end of the thorn out of my foot, or so I thought, but now four hours later it hurts wicked bad and is getting all plump and reddish. I fear permanent damage. So we got some Epsom salts and Neosporin and are hoping to stave off amputation.

And I will always wear hard-soled shoes from now on when I’m tromping in the woods. I have learned my lesson.