Six Feet Under Grease

My online travel writing class is "meeting" at 10 pm tonight, so I headed over to Mickey D's for some reliable internet access. Wifi is only $2.95 for 2 hours, which is a very sweet deal indeed. Unfortunately, someone decided to "mop" the floor with what seems to be leftover grease from the fryer. I nearly wiped out during my quest to find a clean table (mission: near impossible) until I figured out that I should just pretend I was wearing ice skates and glide on the floor. Also, let me mention that it reeks of ketchup in here. That the grill exploded all over the dining room is a distinct possibility. I'd have gladly settled down for two hours at another location, if anything in this godforsaken beach town was open past 9 pm.

The gliding around McDonald's might not be so painful had I not injured my feet. My left foot is sporting an impressive blister on my 4th toe, which developed as I played pirate miniature golf last night. (Score: 63, only 25 or so over par. It's a talent, I know.) My right foot is another tragedy. I sprained the 4th toe on Sunday when a wave knocked me over and I twisted my foot under me as my head charged directly into Husband's ass. Then on Tuesday, I stepped on a rock that flayed my heel and onto something sharp that punctured the center of the sole.

At least my sunburn is not too bad.