We awoke early, had breakfast, took our morning constitutional, and then headed for our pedicure. We even left early enough to enjoy some sniff-time at the pet medical center so that we didn't rush in the place like we usually do, with Stewey a nervous mess and Mommie Dearest svitzing like a pudding at a picnic.
And then I proceeded to hit him with the door on the way into said clinic, and managed to rip two of his little toenails right off of his tiny little bunny foot.
It took the team about a half hour to patch him up while I frantically tried to clean up the massive pools of blood all over the lobby, me, the exam room, and the lovely display of historical materials celebrating the clinic's 100 year anniversary. Between me huffing and puffing and bawling over what an idiot I am, and the horrified parents of other pets trying to console me, there was blood. Lots and lots of blood. Who was the character in Shakespeare who kept trying to wash the bood off of her hands?
Well, about an hour ago, that was me.
Except instead of looking all tragic and elegant, I looked more like a pitiful lunatic trying to sanitize an entire pet medical center with a crumpled up tissue and a travel size bottle of Purell that I fished out of the bottom of my Vera.
I'm pretty sure we're going to have to move now.
P.S. Stewey is fine, by the way...I'm the hot crock pot full of mess in need of sedation.