Here are the events as they happened: A month and a half ago, I was walking through my yard, which was filled with landmine-like sprinkler heads. I often stubbed my toes on them, but this was right before I moved so, to humanize the little assholes, I think they had to get me one last time (it wasn’t my own lack of attention or considerable clumsiness at all).
So I kicked the sprinkler. It hurt badly. A week later in my new apartment I noticed against the white porcelain of my new bathtub that my toenail was fully purple. The whole thing. I solved the problem by covering it up with nail polish.
Two weeks later the nail was separating from the bed. It obviously wanted to come off, but was still too attached. And understandably so: My feet are gorgeous.
A few more weeks go by and there is clearly a nail growing under the gimp that’s still attached to my toe. I try pulling at it, and it comes halfway off. I look at it, make amends and admit, however gross it may be, that my friend’s time is up. With good lighting, no pain, a little blood and a little more force, I pull it off in about four pieces. Me and old first-little-toe-nail had some good times together, but those days are over.
Now I’m ready to start life with my new toenail. What will the future hold for us? Where will we go and what will we do together? Only time will tell, only time will tell
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