This Post is Really a Cry for Help, but I Can’t Type With My Feet

The other day I took off my shoe to find out what was going on.  It’s a thing I do. I live in the now.  It felt like there was something wrapped around my toe.  My money was on a renegade sock.  I was wrong and now I owe myself a BILLION dollars, which sucks because I don’t have that kind of money and I’m the kind of guy that might do something drastic to me if I don’t pay up.  Seriously, I’m a real asshole when it comes to stuff like that.

What I found was a reddish mark on the top of my toe, the long one, which isn’t the big toe, but the piggy that stayed home.  Yes, it’s longer than the one that went to market, which in some cultures (like yours for instance) means that I’m a superb lover. In other cultures it means I’m an asshole that wants his money.  In my shoe it meant a BAFFLING MEDICAL MYSTERY!  Or a reddish mark that was tender to the touch.  I rubbed some dirt on it and got back in the game.  Hopscotch waits for no man.

Later that night it continued to hurt and oddly enough it appeared to be spreading to the other toes.  Kids, always wear a toe-condom! The next day… The. Toes. Were. Still. There! And thankfully none of them were pregnant.  However, the pain was worse, which is what WebMD refers to as a “symptom” and they might be right.  They are doctors, after all. And spiders! I decided to deal with it the only way I know how — with whining.

About 4 a.m. this morning I woke up to a hot, throbbing sensation, which isn’t that unusual, but it wasn’t courtesy of the usual suspect(s).  It was coming from my toes, which are at least a few inches from what you were thinking (sitting cross-legged on a warm day).  I tuned out the pain by finding my focal point (iPhone) and taking deep breaths while playing Suduko. I drifted to sleep with my foot in the fire.

This morning all of my toes on the left foot, save the biggie, are swollen and bright red.  It feels like I kicked the sun and then backed the car over my foot. Repeatedly.

I’m not one for doctors, mainly because I don’t have insurance, but I’m thinking that should my toes start falling off I may have to make an appointment.  Maybe there’s a cream for these things.

A few days ago, before any of this had happened, the boys told me to move my foot off the red rug in the family room because it was lava.  I told them that my superpower was standing in such things.  In fact, I went so far as to say that my name was Lavafoot and then I put on a cape, which was actually a good idea because it gets chilly sitting around in just your underwear.  I may have done some kung-fu moves.  They mocked me.  Openly.  Now that same foot is slowly melting beneath the spread of roaring hellfire and caring words left unheeded, and I’m never going to hear the end of it.

Related Posts with Thumbnails

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.