I’LL KEEP MY TOENAILS, PLEASE

When you are walking to work, down the driveway towards your Honda Civic, your Ford Fiesta, and you feel a little wiggle in your shoes, don’t worry. That uplifting feeling in the pinky toe? Not important. Big Toe on the right foot feels a bit numb on top? No problem.

It’s just your toenail falling off one centimeter at a time, so don’t panic.

Me? I like sitting on the couch, watching Fight Club or Fargo. That’s my little adventure. Surely there’s a good new Stephen King novel out there that I haven’t read yet.

When the toenail turns bubonic black and Barney dinosaur purple, it’s okay. If it turns dead fish white, rising to the ceiling and crumbling, it’s all part of the plan. Remember that We all have our little adventures. My wife, she has these medals. Medals upon medals upon medals, so many that I can’t count them anymore. She bought these wall mounts to hang them on, and now the entire hallway is filled inch by inch with plastic gold, ceramic silver, aluminum copper. Pretty soon, we are going to have to buy a new wall.

When I sit on my couch and watch film noire or read the next great American author, I don’t have to worry about losing my toenails. They won’t be running off anywhere without me, I can assure you.

We all have our little adventures. Rebecca collects her medals, but things could be worse. I worked with a guy whose wife collected restaurant menus. When I asked how she acquired them, he said: “She steals them.” Medals aren’t so bad, in retrospect. I’m not sure where we’d put all the menus.

Rebecca is my wife’s name. How does she get the medals? It starts by getting up at a God awful early morning hour, that time when the sun hasn’t quite decided it’s a good idea to peak over the horizon. Drive down to Starbucks to get some oatmeal, Quaker be damned. Then, stand in lines. Find your coral. Waltz with shoulder to shoulder human beings, all eating their Starbucks oatmeal.

You might be wearing seizure inducing pumpkin orange, or electric glow in the dark yellow. These events require dress codes. Manicured astro-turf green. Never show up without your Las Vegas neon bright pink running shoes.

The itching? It’s a new nail growing underneath on the middle toe, left foot. Simple enough, so relax. You wait. You wait in your group, because that’s what you do. You wait, and then you run. You run and run. Then run some more. The hours and days pass away. They have upbeat names. “5K”, or “10K”. Half marathon, which is a hellish thirteen miles. When you run a half marathon, you walk funny for the next few days. Run some more. Don’t stop, don’t stop, do not ever stop. Then run some more. This is how my wife Rebecca gets her medals, medals upon medals. And she loves every one of them.

We all have our little adventures.

Me?

I’d like to keep my toenails please.



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