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Mar 2007 Issue
by Dave Ellis
My wife told me I have odd toes. This was about month after we were married, so there was no recourse. It was quite a shock to me as I never thought a thing about my toes; they were useless little fingers on my ground hands.
I really wish I were a monkey. That would be so cool to pick up stuff with my toes. I mean really grip stuff, like an ice cream cone.
Back to my toes, she explained that toes should make a natural staircase step-by-step from the pinky all the way to big. My toes do not do this. Instead my pinky and ring are about the same length, then there’s a big jump to middle and pointer, which are about even lengths too.
My big toes look normal, except for the right one, it kicked a couch while I was doing a handstand and the knuckle is now bigger than its brother on the left. Oh, and my pinkies have dual inline toenails…other than that my feet are great.
I had pretty high feet-esteem until my wife pointed out my flaws. But like any other guy I really don’t care. I still wear sandals, sans-socks of course, and swim barefoot. My feet, or as the French call them ‘pieds de fromage’, are nothing to be ashamed of, but my toenails are.
Let me give you a little history lesson. In olden times toenails didn’t get clipped. Nature just took its course. Your nails were worn smooth slowly by walking all day on sharp rocks OR you were eaten by a bear, toes and all. Problem solved. This is how man lived.
Women on the other hand have always been into grooming. I have a feeling that all great technical advances had to do with the growing necessities of women. Iron Age? Had to do with hair curling. Bronze Age? Tanning beds. Copper Age? Lotion for the tanning beds.
By the way, I’m not knocking women for taking care of themselves. I applaud them for keeping us men civilized. In fact, if I wasn’t married I would probably be eating Ramen noodles out of a sauce pan over the sink. And not the fancy kitchen kind of sink, the bathroom sink.
So my wife still thinks I have weird looking toes, but she loves me anyway. For a Valentine’s Day present she gave me a full on pedicure. She soaked my feet and then took what I thought was a parmesan cheese grater – but wondered why it was in our shower – and ground my heels back to a recognizable skin texture.
It took a lot of work, bless her heart, but she did it. Without the use of explosives I might add. How could I ever repay her, you ask? Well I did the next best thing.
For Valentine’s Day this year I cleaned the toilet. Honest. I might add that she was thrilled.
Now that my heels are all smooth I do have to admit that I do feel a little fancier. So this is what it’s like to have sensation in your feet? I’m hooked.
Now every day I take the parmesan grater to my feet; I’m slowly whittling my feet into a more convenient symmetrical shape, starting with evening out my toes. Maybe then I’ll get the foot-respect from the wife that I so long for. If not, next Valentine’s Day I’ll try cleaning two toilets.
