I suppose it was bound to happen. I mean, they are pointy hard little things. And I step on them a lot.
Scene: Friday night. Cindy, grumpy, trying to get the Christmas tree in order. Pete, tired from chopping down tree. Suzy, sleeping. Harry, bounding, tearing about the house.
Cindy: Harry, get off the couch. It's not a jungle gym.
Harry: I know. (jumps off couch)
Cindy: Harry, you're done on the couch tonite. Get off. Sit on the floor.
Harry: (jumps off the couch, runs across to tv) Ow! Owie! My toey! My toe!
Cindy: Well, if you weren't tearing about, your foot wouldn't hurt.
Harry: Daddy, my toe hurts!
Pete: We've got blood here.
So, giant gash between 4th and little toe, big pad of skin missing in same general area.
Off the the emergency room:
Harry: I don't want another shot.
Cindy: I know.
Harry: Who is going to have to stay at the doctor's house?
Cindy: No one will have to stay at the hospital. They are just going to fix your foot.
Harry: I don't want them to touch my foot. I don't want another shot.
After a nice long stay, including the use of a urinal in bed, we left with 2 stitches. And what does the boy who got another shot and a new centipede want? Yes, the hair of the dog.