I think I have broken my toe. Again. This comes to no surprise to my family and loved ones, who have seen me repeatedly try to “behead” my toes, usually about every two to three months. There is one in particular, that has been smashed into things so often that it looks like “Gumby.”
This toe resides next to the large one, on my left foot. It sticks out further than the big toe, which I read somewhere either meant I was intelligent, or had a big penis, I can’t remember which, so neither must be true. What I do know is that if you have a toe that is larger than your big toe, it will be the one you ram into things. See, intelligent!
“What is wrong with you?” My husband will ask, as I ram this toe into the bed frame for the 547th time. “aaarrggggghhhhFUUUUUCCGGGG, suckamabotchi!” I will answer, tears springing into my eyes. This is if the kids are in earshot. If not, I unwittingly recite a George Carlin rant about the things you can’t say on television, as my eyes bug to twice their size, cartoonish.
I need a permanent splint for this toe, like a baby carriage. Or a protective force field. I wonder how much this would cost, or if I could invent it. Invisalign braces? They can do that, so I can design…. invisatoeram. “With this invisible toe protector, no one will know you repeatedly jam your toes into things! No more scraping them on the pavement, yanking the door over their tops! With INVISATOERAM, you too, can have a normal life, like normal people do, the ones who actually have an awareness of their toes in relation to other objects!”
I admit, I have just never gotten the hang of that. My toes reside wayyyyy on the other side of my body, and quite possibly, I have never gotten around to memorizing where they should go. This sounds silly, but between the years of 13 and 15 I grew seven inches. SEVEN INCHES. I kept slamming my head into cars when I got in, before my body realized I was really a lot taller now, dear, and why don’t you just try ducking instead? Or maybe, maybe it is because of the head smashing; I cancelled out the few wires I needed that were in charge of toes. PPfft, bam, black area, the fuse went out. Nothing, Nada, No signal there.
Toes? What toes? We have toes? What department is in charge of that?
Oh well, I am better at other things. This is what I will tell myself, as I limp off to bed. This will all be better, in the morning, toe. At least, until I try to walk. Then I will curse my idiot toe-crushing ways, limping like Quasimodo, as I shuffle the kids off to school.