Real Men Have Wolverine Toenails



I have a hole new kind of writer’s block.

I thought I would write something all clever, if not hysterical, while the Missus is grocery shopping.

But I can’t think of anything except the fact that my left big toe is poking through a hole in my sock.

This has occurred because a) the blog has midget feet and has to buy cheapo kiddy socks and b) we have not trimmed our toenails since Obama was re-elected.

This is not a grass-roots protest or anything.

It’s more to do with winter and our stuck neck.

When the blog does cut our toenails, it’s normally just before getting into the bathtub to soak our aching neck. And our aching back. And pretty much all of our moving parts.

And that procedure works just fine when it’s warm.

But in wintertime, like nowadays Down Under in New Zealand, we cannot recommend sitting buck nekkid on the bathroom floor while cutting your toenails.

The Hiney Zone

This is because a) the blog’s bathroom heater sucks so b) there is every chance one’s hiney could freeze to the tile and c) in all fairness, we think b) is a good enough reason to avoid this.

So, in the winter, instead of actually clipping our toenails, we find ourself gazing at them while soaking in the tub.

If we pour in just exactly enough water, when we climb in, the water level rises just high enough to barely top the ledge thingy.

But the level is not so high that the Missus’ 900 bottles of gurly stuff start floating away.

Because if that happens, there will be questions.

Like, “Why do you need the water level so high that it ruins the organisation of my bottles — that is so IRREEEEEETATING?”

And the blog’s well-thought-out answer is, “because at that precise level, our talon-like toenails stick out just above the water line, and we can pretend we are Wolverine.”

And, if you have ever read this blog, you will know that answer will not be acceptable to the Missus.

No Pedicure Zone

Ironically, as we sit in our favorite mall coffee shop writing this ‘Ode to Our Toe’, we realize that not 20 yards away are any number of third world pedicure ladies who would gladly whack off our Wolverine talons.

But that is never going to happen.

Even though one of our high school *buddies, who rides a Hog and has a beard like ZZ Top, is constantly Facebooking photos of his latest pedicure – which, BTW, makes us wonder how many Hells Angels are gay – this blog is simply not going to pay for a pedicure.

There is only one woman in this world who will ever witness the blog’s Wolverine-like toenails protruding from the bathtub water, or our occasional buck-nekkid effort to cut them.

And that is because she has to.  We are hitched. And we have one bathroom. So there.

Darn It

Just moments ago, in a moment of whimsy, the blog considered asking the Missus to ‘’darn” our holy sock.

But because a) we never get tired of setting off our thoughts in parentheses, b) we do not actually know what “darn” means, and c), if we did ask the Missus to “darn” our sock, we’re pretty sure our sock would not be the only thing with a hole in it.

Which brings us to the point in this story when the blog goes to the little boys’ department of the department store to buy new socks.

Preferably made of something stronger than adamantium.

Because it is winter.

And there is little likelihood that our Wolverine-like toenails are going to get clipped anytime soon.

In the meanwhile, they are razor sharp.

Able to slice right through case-hardened steel.

Or the blog’s shower curtain.

Hypothetically speaking.

We’ll just keep that last bit to ourselves, right?


* Because of the strict privacy policy of this blog, we cannot mention that his name is Curtis Dougherty.

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