The Conclusion of Summer Footwear

So, I’m always right.  This time I’m right about the dangers of sandals.  I’m showing you something that might be disturbing, and you should ask any small children to leave the room and stop being interested in the internet. 

now you know. Now you know.

It’s my foot, and a piece of its toe was cut off because I did not take my own advice.  See, my child is harassing me every day to get a pedicure with her.  We can be mommy and daughter and have Chinese ladies wash our feet.  Do you know that pedicures make your toenails cute, but they also make you feel really creepy?  I also think that the tiny little Asian ladies think I’m a big bulky American with nasty toenails, and they feel sorry for themselves that they have to clean the monsters.  Regardless of all that going on in my head, I told my munchie that we could get pedicures together.  To justify my pedicure and also because it was hot and I went to the beach in boots and thought how much more convenient it would be to wear sandals, I bought some sandals.  SANDals.  You wear them in the sand.  The sandals I bought are an okay pair except for the fact that it’s a full-on 24/7 toe-flash when I wear them. 

So I was wearing my new fuglies at this strip mall yesterday where Munch and I were about to get our toes done.  I went to the ATM because of the need for some nice hot machine-cash.  Someone had left their leather planner book/giant wallet-looking thingy at the machine, so I made sure to be extra-awesome and bring it into the bank for someone.  BAD IDEA.  On the way into the bank, I misjudged the distance between my foot and the door, and when I let the door swing shut, it totally shaved off the top of one of my toes.  The worst part is that toes have all the nerves in your body located inside of them.  I was in so much pain that I handed the teller the planner with a bitchy attitude which was the opposite of the hero/sweet/looks really young for her age attitude which I had planned on using.  I barely enjoyed my accolades and hobbled out of the bank to my daughter who was standing in front of the nail salon looking like someone cute who was about to become someone who was disappointed. 

I told her I couldn’t get a pedicure because I hurt my big toe while we walked in the nail salon.  There were already two ugly American monsters sitting on toe thrones, and only one tiny little Asian lady tending to all of their piggies. 

“Hi ca I hep you?”

I said, “we want pedicures,” even though I knew I wasn’t getting one.  My toe was bleeding, and I wasn’t about to put it in a toe-bath and end up with the top of my toe floating in blood water in this strip-mall nail salon. 

“Okay!  Pick colo.”

So Munch and I stood in front of the wall of nail polish discussing what we were going to do.  “I can’t get one.  My foot is bleeding.”

“Well I’m not getting one if you don’t get one.”

“We can come back after the lake and get one.”  So it was decided.  We left the nail salon without saying anything to the nail-lady.  After we were about thirty feet away, I heard someone yell, “Miss!”  I turned around, and the nail lady was standing at the door with her arms out like, ‘what the fuck?’

I yelled back at her, “I hurt my toe!” and pointed down at my foot. 

She still just stood there like that, but I didn’t want to go back and explain because my toe hurt, and I’m a jerk.  Munch said, “We should have not even gone in there.  She looked really upset.”

A lot of people were hurt by sandals yesterday.