My Toes Have Proven Something to Me

I am old.  Yes, I have to admit it: I. AM. OLD.

How do toes speak to you?  Well, it only happens when you listen. I decided to save the expected $25 for a pedicure. That's $2.50 per toe. I'd do it myself. My knees, hips, ankles bend fairly well. Removing the old polish was a breeze: dab on the remover and rub. Then really get into the corners and side of each nail. Voila! Done.


Now do not get the idea that any of the toes in these pictures are mine.  I could not have toes this loud. They would distract me from anything I might be trying to do.  Besides they look bruised and painful.  But I do like my toes to look neat and clean and well-pedicured. My feet may think I am old, but they appreciate sandals and flip flops, and those require a little adornment.  That's a young thing, you know.

I have one of those sticks with four different grits of sandpaper or whatever. It has numbers, so I figured that it was sort of an unpaint by number for your nails. Easy enough.  In no time they were looking clean, smooth and shiny.  Ha! Not old at all.


Then came the old part. Old. Apparently I can do all the prep work without actually seeing the nails. Well, I could see them in the sense that I could tell where they were, and I could feel when the unpaint by number stick was not on the nail, so it was relatively easy to figure out what and how and (most importantly) where.  Not very old.

Putting on polish, however, requires seeing the edges of the nails well enough that you don't actually go off the nail.  Not happening.  I can bend knees and hips and ankles just so much.  I am getting older.

Stretching and bending brings my feet and nails only so close to my face.  My eyes needed to be closer.  I hunched over and strained my back and neck.  That helped.  I sat on the bed instead of a chair.  That did not help as all the rolling up caused a body roll that could have been dangerous had I shifted enough to go in the other direction. Maybe I am old.


Back in the chair, I discovered the issue--my feet get close enough to my face to reach the line in my bi-focals.  No closer.  No hunching, rolling, stretching, bending, would bring toes to the oh-so-important bottom half of the lens.  Honestly, I tried.  I moved to the floor so I could already be where a fall would take me.  It was hard, the floor and the trying, and the trying got old quick.  I guess I. am. old.  

A deep breath and few words later, I tried a different tactic.  What if I stopped straining to get closer and worked on the top half of my bi-focals?  Firstly, it turns out, I couldn't see the edges of the nails.  I guess they were too far away. The bigger problem was that my arms are only so long.  I couldn't reach all of my toes. I. AM. OLD. my toes and eyes and even my glasses said it over and over. I finally believed them.

How do you paint something you can't reach?  You don't.  You pay someone else.  They all expect about $25.