Stuff on my feet

Today, in no particular order, the following things have been placed, dropped, splashed or otherwise deposited on my (bare) feet:

A rather nice bronze coloured nail varnish. This was, without doubt, the only good thing that has happened to my feet today.

Urine, not my own*. As provided by a small boy who didn't quite make it to the toilet in time, and summoned me with a peremptory bellow, "Mummy, I need help". Naturally I dashed straight to the bathroom, to find him ensconced on his throne, wee everywhere, including the large puddle I was by that point standing in.

Bin juice. Yes, you know the stuff. That foul, putrifying liquid found in garbage compactor 3263827 on the Death Star. There is nothing that quite contends with the smell of liquifying potato. LittleBear came into the kitchen and promptly wrapped his whole arm across his face, burying his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow and mumbling "that's a horrid smell". Yup, and now I've dripped it on my foot.

Lego. I don't know why it was put on top of my feet. On the plus side, it's better on top than underneath.

Various dinosaurs. Most of them were trying to eat me, my clothes or each other. Again, it remains unclear to me why my feet were providing the battle ground for the enacting of these scenarios.

The cat's bottom. He sat down. My feet were there first. His bottom is, once again, a rather unpleasantly matted department that may require another trip to a kind man bearing clippers. And he's quite happy to share said unpleasant bottom.

The cat's feet. He walked across me. I didn't look much like the rest of the garden, but I suppose by this point I smelt pretty special.

Grated cheese. LittleBear isn't exactly accurate in his distribution when adding grated cheese to his jacket potato.

Raw bacon. I'm not exactly accurate in my distribution when finely chopping bacon.

I think it's just possible my feet may get an extra special washing tonight before bed.


* Would it be better or worse if it were my own?