The thing about being in slippers is that your toes are out in the open, welcoming any casualty. I ran into a casualty today. I was walking behind Chips and for some reason, my foot crashed into his. The advantage he had was that he was in sneakers. So there it was, a lightning-like pang of pain. My "pointer" toe was writhing in it. Then I just didn't mind it. It's going to wear off. And off a-shopping we went. And off to a movie too (we watched The Prestige, and oh my Lord was it a wonderful droolfest).

So we went home and all, hung out, played with the dog. And for some reason, I felt like I should examine my toe. And hey, what do you know... it looks like dried blood. I didn't really notice it at first, because my toenails were painted dark red.

Chips was such a sweetie for cleaning it up with alcohol. And he said that maybe the nail was cracked. He suggested that we break it off. Ack! No! The grossness of having no toenail? He said well, you'd still have half. The head was screaming no, no, no! This cannot be happening! We agreed that a band-aid should be taped over it, to prevent any undesired voluntary clipping. I cannot imagine it happening. I'd rather not.

Shit, there goes the planned pedicure tomorrow.