We’re off to look at houses today, a trip corresponding to James coming down with an agonizing foot pain. It’s not swollen or bruised, toes are not sticking off at odd angles, it’s not the big toe and thus probably not gout, but the side of his foot for some reason is killin’ him. It’s either some random weirdness or he broke a wee bone in his foot, but he can rub his foot and not suddenly scream in agony, nor did he feel any breaks. He has no memory of having injured it in any fashion, the foot looks fine, but he’s still hobbling around like Gimpy the squirrel. Advil helps a little, but I am getting the impression that this is some mondo pain.

Like the stoic he is, he waved off my suggestion we cancel the house-looking trip and go to the doctor. So we’re still looking at houses. James WANTS to buy a house, and if he has to use me as a crutch, so be it! Crawlspace? Hey, you use your knees in the crawlspace, not your feet. (I may wind up in the crawlspace with the agent, for all the good I’ll do.)

And tomorrow, if it’s not better, I’m taking him to the doctor, come hell or high water.

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