I heard the snap and the immediate ping, but I lost sight of it as it flew through the air like a meteor.
I knew it was gone. I also knew if I didn’t find it, someone else would. I couldn’t live with that. I was now going to be late for my appointment. Look, nobody wants to admit these things happen, least of all me, but this is a good reminder that the things that happen in the privacy of one’s bathroom truly level humanity and all false perceptions of status.
The clipping of one’s toenails is a feat that gets harder the older you get. My two big toe nails are tough to clip. Teflon toenails. Clipping them is a hygiene hazard. Flying projectiles. Shards of shrapnel. Toe trauma.
I tore a swath of toilet paper from the roll and dropped it to the floor, and using my right foot as a mop, I slid it around the bathroom floor, hoping I would be able to collect my rogue toenail clipping without injury; the injury being someone stepping on it, or me actually having to kneel on the floor to do this if my foot mopping failed. I had a hard enough time with the gymnastics it took to actually clip my toenails in the first place. Limber is not a word I’d use to describe myself.
To further complicate things, the little clipping was now invisible on the laminate flooring. It blended in with the swirl of neutral colours, browns, beiges, creamy white faux tiles that sound unattractive, but honestly makes for a suitable floor in a bathroom that, you may remember from a previous column, still has raccoon portraits on the wall.
I’m not kidding.
I stepped-slid around the floor, toilet paper dragging underfoot, collecting dust and strands of hair that I inevitably shed after blowing drying my hair. The floor was still a little damp from the steam of the shower, because I forgot to run the fan again. Step, slide. Step, slide. Corner to corner and back again.
Finally, I felt it under foot, snagged in my makeshift paper mop. Mission accomplished. I bent down to ensure that I had, in fact, snared it, then rolled the piece of toilet paper into a ball and tossed it in the garbage, grateful for the win.
I put my toenail clippers back in their bag, wiped down the counter and washed my hands, laughing at my situation, when it struck me that I haven’t had a proper pedicure since August. You read that right. August. It struck me that I really miss my friend, Caitlyn, my pedicure person. She takes incredible care of my feet, and since I don’t like anyone touching my feet, this is a sacred relationship.
But, budgets are my reality. To save money, I’ve been taking care of my own feet. I now realize this has been a terrible decision. Apologies to all my socks.
You’ll be happy to know, my husband, the Carpenter, has offered me his bolt cutters and a mini-grinder until I can see Caitlyn again. He’s thoughtful like that. You should see that guy’s feet. Straight toes. No curl. So weird.
Let this be a reminder to you to take care of your feet. Be kind to your toes. Be kind to yourself. Also, buy the good toilet paper for makeshift mops if needed.
Step, slide. Hot tip.
You’re welcome.
