"Ducking for apples... change one letter and you have the story of my life."
I'm in a mood. Not a good one mind you. I have this irritation that is, well, irritating me. It's an ingrown toenail. Sheesh. No more ballerina moves for me, not that I was ever that graceful on my two feet, but it would be nice to think that at any given moment, I could spring into a spontaneous pirouette. You know... in case anyone might be watching. You always want an audience for that sort of thing. I wanted to take ballet lessons when I was a little girl, but my mother new better, see, she knew I had taken after my father when it came to my silly little feet. Dad and I both, had silly little flat feet. I managed to make my right foot slightly more interesting by dropping a large can of peach halves in heavy syrup on it in 1991. It hurt. A lot. Then it the bone grew back funky, and left me a tiny little hump on my foot, that can be seen if you look very, very closely. It will be how they identify my body someday, after I am hideously murdered while sitting at an outdoor cafe in London.
Yes. That's how the end will come. I will be killed while eating scones and drinking tea. And reading the London Times. Probably the gardening section, or maybe the Arts and Entertainment section, that part is kind of irrelevant. LOL. The point is, I will have been hideously murdered. It would have to be hideous, if the only way they could ID me is if they looked at the hump on my right foot. Of course, in the mean time, I have this goofy ingrown toenail to tend to. I have to, so my humpy foot won't fall off, because if it did, there would be no way for them to ID my hideously murdered body. But I bet you figured that out... right? ;) Sigh.
We live in marvelous times... don't we? A few years ago, I would have had to go to a special doctor, who would have gotten a big, fat needle, and shot it up under my funky toenail, as if I were some kind of footwear terrorist that he needed vital podiatry information from. He would speak with a thick German accent, and look at me quite sinisterly as he jammed the needle deeply into my poor painful, yet girlishly gorgeous big toe. "OUCH"... I would scream. "OH THE PAIN!... STOP... I WILL TELL YOU ANYTHING!" And I probably would. LOL. Sheesh.
Thank goodness I don't have to go through that, not while the Internet has places like the MayoClinic and WebMD. I looked up a wonderful article tonight on self care for ingrown toenails. A little soaking of my toe in warm salt water, and little lift and separate with some cotton balls, a new pair of sensible shoes, and I will be good to go. Whew! I didn't really want to go to the doctor. Nope, self help worked very well for my nervous breakdown, and now I am just fine, and it will work for this little nuisance too. Right? I mean, can't you tell how much healthier I am, mentally speaking? I haven't wished anyone mad fits of eyeball rolling in nearly 12 hours. Go me! :)
-OndineMonet "Cold Love" Yuba Gap, California March 15th, 2007 Afternoon