DISCLAIMER: This post is about feet. I have a deep respect for those with toe trepidations, so please stop reading here if you’re one of those anti-feet people.
Maybe it’s because I’m a June baby (or just a vitamin D junkie), but I always look forward to summertime, and this year, I’ve been jonesing for sunny skies since before the astute term “Chiberia” was used to liken the polar vortex in Chicago to Siberia.
Winter was no joke.
For months I’ve been observing the five-day weather forecast, waiting to vengefully stow away all my bulky winter paraphernalia. I’ve ached to recall what it feels like to wear only one shirt. I’ve longed to breathe in the tantalizing aroma of turkey burgers and chicken breasts being cooked to salmonella-free levels on the grill. Alas, as spring transitions to summer, there’s one last hurdle that separates me from the rainbow flip-flop wall at Old Navy…
My disgusting winter toenails.
Last week the temperature rose to a sandal-appropriate level. Finally, I could unleash my feet from the socked time-out of my Nikes and the stink chamber that is every pair of flats I own! On the layer of dirty laundry coating my bedroom floor, I got down on my hands and knees and defeated worthy foes including The Overgrown Dust Bunny of Shame and The Spider That Got Away That One Time to free a pair of sandals from their seasonal exile under my bed. I immediately put them on my feet, excited to turn the main floor of my house into a dog toy booby-trapped runway, when I recoiled in horror at the sight of my winter toes.
When did my second toenail get so long? Does my big toe always look like this??? There appears to be trace amounts of nail polish… There are probably at least three additional layers underneath it, too. Who really has time to scrub OPI’s formidable Pulled Out a Plum nail polish off of their toes? How do you know when you have bunion? I would know if this is a bunion, right? Let’s see how my heel feels—OKAY. That’s not soft and tender.
I’ve been so engrossed in all my other efforts to prepare for summer (sunglasses reconnaissance, sunscreen inventory, etc.), that I’ve completely overlooked the fact I still have winter feet.
Now, before you tell me it doesn’t matter what my toenails look like, it’s who I am inside—I know. You probably think everyone should let their toes loose on the world, sock fuzz, fungus, and all. You’re entitled to disregard common courtesy toenail standards, but don’t tell me how to live my life.
My toes don’t always need to be polished and pretty, because I don’t really want any fetishists sniffing around, but when my naked toes are going to be flipping and flopping in fresh air, I want to put my best foot forward, and that involves a cute coral polish on each toe (even the perplexing pinky toenail). In their current state, these little piggies couldn’t even go to the market, let alone take a dip in the pool. If my toenails were simply unpolished or a little longer than recommended, I wouldn’t think twice about flauntin’ ‘em, but we’re talking about six months of toenail neglect here. If I don’t handle this situation soon, I’ll risk losing custody of all my open-toed shoes.
I know this situation warrants a professional pedicure, but can I, in good conscience, pass the buck of toenail responsibility onto someone else when I have only myself to blame? I may even be too embarrassed to willingly submit myself to the solid fifteen minutes of pumicing I’d surely receive. Is it possible for one be tickled and feel shame at the same time? I suppose I could save face by going to a salon in another city… I have a new empathy for people who skip going to the dentist for 20 years.
At this point, I’m not sure how to proceed, and my fearless embrace of summer hangs in balance. I may take matters into my own hands and bust out the bag of cotton balls and toenail clippers and hope I don’t fashion my pinky toenail into a dagger that’ll stab my legs while I’m sleeping.
On second thought, I think I’ll go to Boston. I think I’ll start it over where no one knows my name (or the status of my toenails)…