I painted my toenails orange for June, green for July. They’re sporting yellow polish at the moment.

I broke three of my toes growing up–one when I put my bare feet down to stop a swing.

My second toes are longer than my big toes, although not by much. Apparently this has a name–Morton’s toe. I’ve heard it’s a sign of intelligence.

Eyes and hair are overrated. I’m going to write about toes.

8 thoughts on “toes

  1. Toes, eh. That’s so funny. I wrote a story once called Grandpa’s Feet. I don’t even know what happened to it, I wrote it so long ago. The story was inspired by taking my boys (they were 4 and 5 at the time) to visit their grandpa (my father-in-law) in the hospital. He was a retired physician and always wore a suit. So to see him in a hospital gown was a shock. But it was the sight of his thick, yellowed toenails that terrified them both. It never occurred to me to prepare my pre-schoolers for the sight of grandpa’s feet.


  2. My brother always told me my long toe next to the big one meant I was intelligent. I wanted to believe him but he also told me the polio scar (I think it’s polio, the dime-sized scar on your upper arm. Small pox, maybe.) was a poor man’s mark. Those with the mark would be rounded up and executed.

    The fact that I believed him about the mark was perhaps my first clue that I wasn’t going to be intelligent. 🙂


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