The Case Against the Pinky Toe

Pinky toes are completely unnecessary. Completely. I kinda hate them. Let me tell ya why.

First of all, and maybe most importantly, they don't fit well in the cuter shoes. They stick out at the side of sandals, they get smooshed into the sides of closed-toes, they get blisters almost as often as heels. Why for? Shoes aren't really made for pinky toes. Except maybe for those weird five-finger shoes that are an abomination to fashion.

Come on, shoes don't look cute with giant spaces on the sides. The Chinese were kind of right. Sorta. Feet should look a little dainty.  On women, not dudes of course. Now, I'm not advocating that we resort to breaking and binding the entire foot, that's just crazy, messed-up shit. But we can lose one toe per foot. We can.

I have mentioned this idea to friends before. Their response? "Oh no, we can't live without that tiny digit. It helps us balance!" Wtf?? Balance? What are we? Apes? Let me tell you, that toe does nothing. Least of all keep me from losing my balance.

I broke my toe once. The pinky, of course. I nearly broke it a second time recently. Same toe. Same useless pinky. I couldn't walk on that side of my foot. And guess what? I never fell over. Not once. Not once while I walking along, or getting out of the shower, or in the car, or any other place that I could have stumbled or lost my balance, did I suddenly need to use that stupid toe to keep me from toppling over. In fact, the opposite was true. Putting weight on it hurt, so I had to lean that foot inward. Instead of using the lame toe like some ape digit.

So there it is. We don't need this little toe. It doesn't work. It doesn't fit. It's too delicate and easily broken. It doesn't serve a purpose. It is a bane to our existence.

Do you hear that, Evolution? Can you make that a priority now? I'm okay with mine falling off tomorrow.

Ouch. No, Really. Does This Look Normal To You? New Friend?

Labor Day weekend. You're supposed to do something awesome to close out summer, right? So I hear. So the wife and I went up to the lake to enjoy the last rays of the summer sun. It was nice. It was warm. And then I thought I'd venture out into the water. Not so brilliant. It was murky and clung to my flip-flops. Ew. It's much better to be back on shore.

We brought sandwiches with us. They weren't awesome. The lettuce was wilted. We discarded it. The birds noticed it. One, in particular, flew down next to the hand holding my sandwich. EEEK!! Birds!!!! Temporary Hitchcock moment! Whew.... Okay. He only wants a piece of my wrap.

Hmmm....How badly do you want my tortilla? Ten inches away? Yes. Six inches away? Yes. With a "peep-peep" thank you. At one point, my new friend fluttered his wings right in front of me. EEEK!!! Okay, breathe. Regroup.

I tore off a small piece of pesto-covered tortilla and put it on my leg. Out of curiosity. And, curiously, my new friend landed right on my foot. My toe. And then my leg. He hopped right over to his little pesto-covered morsel, grabbed it up into his beak, and flew off. He actually did this over and over. Alighting on my toes, my foot, my calf, my thigh. Whatever got him close to the food I offered him. He had a friend who was less brave, we tossed our carbs to him at a distance.

After we'd had enough, and our new friends had seemingly had enough, we hauled our supplies back to the car. Supplies. As in a small cooler with now-empty beer bottles, a towel, sunscreen, a book. Not enough to trip me up. Not really. But I still managed to get stabbed by a stick along the way.

Oh, I forgot to mention that the chair I was sitting on ripped while I was sitting in it. It wasn't a steep drop, but it was jarring enough. Landing straight on the ground. On my tailbone.

Yes, you would think I was bruised enough from this excursion. You'd be wrong.

The wife and I arrived back at my house. I took a quick shower, gathered food and drink supplies for the evening. I forgot my glasses. I'm old, I need them. So I jumped out of the car and hurried up to the door, catching my pinky toe on the lawnmower. OUCH!! WTF???

It's okay, just a stubbed toe. Only, looking at it, it looked a little crooked and set apart from the others. Not a good sign.

I've actually broken this toe before. I was told than that once you break a toe, it's that much easier to break it a second time. Shit. It throbbed. I drove anyway. My toe throbbed. I wanted to puke, but I ignored that feeling.

I downed some ibuprofen, I swallowed some vodka. I watched some cheesy tv. Something about sharks and ghosts and tornadoes. Incredibly lame, but cheesy enough to take the focus off of the pulsing in my swollen digit.

Tomorrow doesn't bode well. The temperatures are dropping and I hoped this would be the week that I wear the cute shoes I won't be able to wear in another month. My swollen pinky toe is already protesting and asking for freedom and breathing room.

Because it hurts like hell, I may need to accommodate. How much does one need a pinky toe anyway?....