So last week my husband hacked in and posted a very attractive picture of his wife.
This was obviously one of the better recent pictures of me, and it triggered some apparent confusion.
Was I biting my toenails?
Was I doing yoga?
In the ER?
No worries y’all. The picture was just proof that I can be considerate of others occasionally. And my husband pulled a photo ninja on me and used his powers for evil.
Ironically, this story probably started almost two decades ago. Back when these were my footwear of choice:
I’d managed to escape most of the disfigurement caused by the body saying, “Seriously… GET OFF YOUR TOES”.
Except… for one tiny baby toe that had a wee crack where the nail had tried to divorce itself. It was so teeny that I usually just tugged the sliver of a nail out with a pair of tweezers instead of duking it out with clippers.
Until that fateful day when my body forgot to be grateful that I was no longer subjecting my metatarsals to my entire bodily weight, and instead objected to the darn tweezers.
Dumb dumb dumb. Within days my crybaby pinky toe was angry red and screaming with every step. After three days of limping, I finally caved and went to Urgent Care.
They sent us back to a room where we appeared to be forgotten for an entire hour.
In which time my husband had plenty of opportunity to mock my predicament and to remark on the questionable state of lower appendage scent.
Mortified, I gave a rousing defense of my daily shower regimen and immediately went to confirm that my bare foot was indeed inoffensive to the medical staff’s olfactory senses.
Seriously y’all… I should have smelled the trap. Pun totally intended.
Faster than a speeding shutter click… I was doomed.
Mr. Daddy started laughing so hard the racket prompted the medical staff to check in.
Thankfully, my new yoga pose was nowhere to be seen, so I didn’t risk on-site embarrassment.
He left that all for you guys.
Well… until the words “digital block” were uttered. But that’s a story for another day.