Owie

So, a few of my roommates from college came into town this weekend to visit. I think a fun time was had by all, until they had all gotten on the bus/plane. I sat down and put my feet up for a little rest. Then I put them down, walked to the kitchen and realized my toes needed some attention - I had ingrown toenails on both feet on my big toe. :( Yes, gross, but it's genetic, so not my fault.

I set about fixing them, and thought I had, until I finished walking Sasha to daycare, hopped on the subway and sat down at my desk. Owie. After I elevated my right foot for most of the morning, things were feeling better, but not before I decided that my going to the gym tonight would just make things worse - how's that for logic.

Reflecting on my rationalization, I remembered a time in elementary school when I had an ingrown toenail, and my dad (the surgeon) fixed it. Not that he was necessarily more willing to inflict pain on my toe than I was, but he wasn't attached to it. :) The next day at school was "lap" day in P.E., where we went outside and walked/jogged/ran around the black-topped parking lot in the heat of the day, in Texas, in the summer (anything between April and October should just count as summer in Houston). After each lap, you collected a popsicle stick from the kids who got to sit out, in order to keep track of how many laps you had done. Mrs. Tilton asked the class if anyone had an injury and couldn't run. Of course I raised my hand, I hated lap day. Unfortunately, this led to me explaining to Mrs. Tilton in front of the entire class that my excuse was that I had an ingrown toenail. Right. Hilarity ensued - for everyone else. I think Mrs. Tilton felt bad for me, not bad enough to let me hand out popsicle sticks, but she did admit that it was probably very painful.

Ahh, memories.