toenail end

Getting a late start today guys and sneaking this note in before I do any work. Okay the end of yesterday’s story – After my oncologist said, “You need to see a doctor” (see yesterday’s post), I went home got some Epsom salts, a toenail clipper and a walnut pick. You know – that thing everyone pulls out of the closet on holidays and says, “What the hell is this?” that comes with the nutcracker.

So I soaked my foot for a while in steam Epsom salt water, pulled it out and contorted myself in such a grotesques shape a Swami along the Ganges would have been envious – that is of course if Hindu Swamis knew envy, but that’s another topic for another day.

So there I am, contorted with a softened up toenail waiting to be clipped. I take the walnut pick (a known surgically clean item I pulled out of the dusty closet), jam it under the quick of my toenail, and pry the small lethal dagger of toenail out into the open. Although there is little blood, there are a lot of tears from the jamming, prying, and contorting. Finally I get the pick into a position where I can hold it with one hand and clip with the other.

Sweet relief. Oh my, my, my.

Don’t tell Kate; she used the Walnut pick last thanksgiving.