|As We Mature, Our Toes Begin to Go Their Separate Ways|
When I look at my toes now, they might as well be strangers who happen to be on the same subway together. Their body language is not hostile, exactly, better to call it aloof. They turn away from each other and refuse to make eye-contact.
What happened to the toes of yesteryear? My pinky-toe, always my favorite because he was the piggy who went "wee-wee-wee," now is a curmudgeonly old grump. You would hardly recognize him. Once so joyous and carefree, he wears the look of a toe for whom life has not turned out as expected. He is embittered.
Even this, however, is not as troubling as what has become of the penultimate-to-the-pinky toe. God alone knows what he is up to. The toenail is transforming into some sort of ramp. It's about thirty-degrees elevated to the rest of the toe. I trim it back, but it refuses to stay trimmed. I can't imagine what a toe wants with a thirty-degree toenail ramp. I fear he has become mentally unbalanced.
Saturday I went to visit my friends Jamie and Sarah who just had a new daughter, Bailey. I did not take time to examine her toes, I did not need to. Like all baby toes, I'm sure they are perfect, as alike as a row of chicklets.
Enjoy those toes while you can, Jamie and Sarah! Toes are like the blossom of a delicate flower, perfect a moment only.