“Oh ffffffffffffuuuuuuuuddddddddddge!”
Only I didn't say “Fudge.” I said the word, the big one, the queen mother of dirty words, the “F-dash-dash-dash” word. Fortunately, the loud crashing sound masked what I said. It also brought Bunny to the bathroom door.
“Are you alright?” she asked from the other side.
“Yes,” I said, hobbling to the door, trying to keep my balance as I was sopping wet with a plastic garbage bad covering my right foot. “although I did do a number on the garbage pail.” I then opened the door to let Bunny see the resulting carnage.
[Picture of the bathroom at Chez Boca with a shattered plastic garbage pail littering the floor] There was nothing we could do. It was an ex-garbage pail, pining for the fjords! [1]
“What happened?”
“I was trying to get out of the tub and slipped,” I said, pulling the garbage bag off my foot.
“Oh! You're bleeding!”
“Tis a flesh wound,” I said. “I've had worse.”
“Sean, you're lucky you didn't smash your head open. Those bathtubs have been known to kill people.”
![[1] /boston/2022/12/09/oops.jpg](/gemini.conman.org/boston/2022/12/09/oops.jpg){kind=link}