There Goes My Nomination

On a day when it was way too hot for sane people to be out of doors, I had the brilliant idea to take Little One to a carnival. In the full, unmitigated sunshine. This should have been Her first clue that maybe I wasn't quite full of the good-mommy mojo that day. She should have been a little wary.
But instead She bounced around the jumping castles, all full of youthful innocence and trust. Poor sap. Then, when She was getting a bit pink from the heat, I took Her into the shade.
For a pony ride! What little girl doesn't love a pony ride?! She was a little unsure about the funky helmet. She had never touched an actual horse before. But, again, blindly investing all Her faith into Her mother, She went with it. The withered guy with the cane, behind the pony-table said: "well...ok, but you have to hold onto Her, the whole time." I sort of brushed him off. "Of course!" I said. Of course. So we started off, Little One wondering what the heck was going on, and me cooing beside Her. But the saddlebag was getting in my way, so I asked the pony-walker if I could switch sides. And I did. And just as I had grabbed Little One and was about to turn and walk, the pony walker decided I was ready. She walked. The pony, walked. It stepped on my foot. Do you know that silver shiny sandals are really cute but not the best choice for agriculturally-based activities? Huh. It broke my toe. In that instant, I let go of Little One. Because apparently, when the chips are down, I choose my pinky toe over my first-born and only child. Good to know! I let go, and in that same instant, Little One sat right up, like, "hey, ma, where'd you go?" And then. She fell. Off. The. Pony. The poor thing cried. Her father swooped in to assess the damage, I was on the ground. With my pinky-stinking-toe. The withered man hobbled up all mad, people gasped. The pony stood there, thinking, "I hate my day job". We apologetically handed back the helmet and limped away. Little One has a small bruise from the helmet, and She very well may have a pathological fear of horses for the rest of Her life, but She is otherwise ok. My toe is fat and purple and ugly, thanks for asking, because sometimes people get what they deserve. Which, in this case, is most likely NOT going to be a commemorative plaque for "Mother of the Year".