Tale of the Toenail

If you gag easily, stop reading now.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

If you must know, I have removed ¾ of the toenail on the big toe of my left foot.

It all started one day when I was working in the yard. The wheelbarrow full of bricks that I was pushing turned over. The edge landed on my big toe. For whatever reason, I wasn’t wearing the steel-toed, waterproof boots I have purchased for such tasks. And that is why I am sporting, at the beginning of sandal season, a nail-less toe.

When I lost control of said evil wheelbarrow and it landed on my toe, spilling its contents, I said bad words; very unladylike, longshoreman bad words. In fact, a red tailed hawk was flying over and I saw him blush. The purple martins had their wingtips over the ears of their hatchlings. And my lovely, sweet Yorkies stood there with their heads tipped to the side. The words were remarkable even for my potty mouth.

Don’t trip over the word ladylike written in the previous paragraph. Admittedly, I’ve never been accused of being ladylike. There has never been a place in my life where ladylike would serve me well. I wouldn’t have survived this long had I been caught up in ruffles and a demure persona.

So as I picked the wheelbarrow up off of my now pulsing toe, I bellowed the words that brought a release of pent up frustration and adrenaline, which allowed me to survive the throbbing toe and nausea. I even managed to not wet myself. Then I moved on in an attempt to complete the task at hand before succumbing to an aching back and darkness. Sadly, I didn’t remove my muddy, wet sneakers or tend my cracked toenail.

The bruise subsided in a couple of weeks, the nail grew out and I paid little regard to my toes beyond slapping on a coat of polish now and then. Recently, I noticed that the polish was darker on one side of my nail, but discounted it as stain from my black socks that I wear every day. But then I went to get a pedicure and the technician was able to slide the tool she was using to clean my nails completely under my nail. Oh yes. I had a detached toenail from a dreaded nail fungus. She cleaned it up and told me to come back in two weeks and she would help me get it cleared up. Back at home I began spraying an antifungal on my toes twice a day. I also started sleeping with Vicks vapor rub on the toenail. I fully intended to return to the nail technician. But as I was sitting in the bathtub a week or so later, I noticed that I could pull my nail clear up off of the nail bed. Worried that I would get an infection in my toe, I began clipping away the loose nail until nothing was left but the white quick. Then I went to the onsite doctor at work. He confirmed my suspicions and told me that the nail being gone was a good thing. We agreed that an oral treatment wasn’t necessary since the risk outweighs the benefit. I would have to have my liver function monitored. Since my liver is likely pickled from my close personal relationship with Grey Goose, I don’t want anyone monitoring my liver function. So the Doc told me to get Lamisil, use it twice a day and wear opened toe shoes. Right. Don’t count on me exposing my deformity to the world.

I showed iWof my mangled toe and he gagged. Even though iWof is known to have an intense gag reflex, odds are good that I won’t be strapping on sandals any time soon. And I haven’t made it to the store to get the ointment yet either. I’m still using the Tinactin and my home remedy. The ingredients in the vapor rub are the same as in Chigarid, I discovered. So, I’ve been painting my toe with Chigarid which, when dried, keeps my socks from turning my nail bed black.

Personally, I don’t really think it looks all that bad. But then I have, in the past slammed one thumb in a car door and the other in a lead lined door. Both incidents left me nail-less. Once the bruising is gone and the nail begins to grow back, it’s just pink flesh. But any deformity causes iWof to heave. He won’t even look in my direction unless I am wearing socks. But that is okay. I have a new weapon in my arsenal. Any time he won’t do what I ask, I threaten to text him a photo of my sockless foot.

Currently, iWof is doing my laundry. When he’s finished, I’m sending him out to clean the garage.

Home Sweet Home on the Range

Tulsa is my home. No matter where I live, Tulsa will always be home. I grew up there, went to school there, had my fondest childhood memories in Tulsa. True, I wasn’t born there, but neither were a lot of people my family knew as I was growing up. Regardless, Tulsa has always been ‘where I’m from’.

McKinley, on the ‘North’ side is where I went to elementary school. We lived nearby so I spent many long childhood days playing in the schoolyard with the neighborhood kids. Days were spent climbing on the monkey bars, playing tag football on the East lawn, skating on the asphalt playground. There wasn’t one square inch of the school grounds we left unexplored. I was sad when they took away the prefab buildings. We used the porches to play house. The buildings were our village. There I discovered that unripe persimmons were very sour when a buddy dared me to pick one off the tree in the corner and take a bite. Just recalling a few memories of that time opens the flood gates.

Now, when you drive by the schoolyard is fenced in 6 foot chain link. It looks more like a prison than a school.

A few years ago I visited losttulsa.com. I found myself in tears as I viewed a slide show of Bell’s Amusement Park: the place that is no more. As badly as I would like to visit the site for old time’s sake, I don’t know if I can. My heart is broken. The Phantasmagoria is gone. Never again will I come around the corner and have a bus blaring its horn, flashing headlights and scaring the water out of me no matter how many times I ride the ride. It was in the dark tunnel of that ride that I was first groped by a boy. Granted, he exited the ride with a split lip, but it was one of those firsts that you never forget. Even if I WAS 22 at the time. (Teehee)

Hmm. That brings a tsunami of memories from Jr. High at Hamilton. Maybe someday I will tell you about the time I missed the bus home because #1 crush popped my bra and it came unhooked, the curse of the girl with bodacious ta-tas. Name that Okie….

Would you buy this book? v3.0

She was sitting at a booth along the wall that ran beside the bar. At first she sat down facing the back of the room but discovered she had a front row seat for the spectacle a couple was making in the back. Just what WAS that girl doing under his trench coat? OMG, in public, that’s disgusting. Stacia got up and changed sides so she was facing the door.

A waitress with big hair and boobs stopped at the table and kicked her skinny hip out. ‘Honey, ya want a menu or ya just medicatin’?’

‘Just medicating, I guess.’ Stacia thought about ordering food, and remembered the large number on the bathroom scale this morning.

Big hair raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Well, what’s your poison? It’s happy hour, two for one.’

‘Fine, bring me a lethal dose of Vanilla Rum and Coke.’ She responded, with little enthusiasm. Too bad I can’t get drunk and get laid. Too bad nothing with a full set of teeth and hair would look twice at the fat chick.

She sighed and squinted as the door opened. A six pack of ripped, hard-body testosterone clad from head to toe in black leather strode through the door like they owned the place. They didn’t just own the place, they owned the whole damned world. All of them were wearing dark lensed sunglasses, even though the sun had dropped behind the horizon a half hour back. They were working their way through the tables heading toward the back. Suddenly, almost too late, she realized they were going to pass right by her table and she was staring like a sex starved rabbit.

As the first one rounded the corner that would bring him by her table she became intently interested in the button on the back of the other side of the booth. As she watched the tall Greek gods out of the corner of her eye she thought, ‘I wouldn’t mind wearing myself out on that ride. Especially the blonde. Walking toward the back of the group was a long haired, blond, Fabio type. As that thought crossed her mind his head snapped around and he looked right at her. She looked up and began to squirm. Men like that just didn’t notice her to the point that she often checked a mirror to see if she was invisible. But this one was suddenly staring at her pointedly. At first he looked rather confused, then a slow smile curled the edges of his delectable mouth. He changed the angle of his path so he would pass closer to her booth.

A burning blush started at her neck and crept up her face. Oh stop it, she thought, he can't read your mind. And you are way too old to be blushing like some plump little school girl. When he stopped at the table he leaned two fisted hands on the table and bent at the waist so he was looking right into her eyes. His nose was inches from hers.

The guy that had been following him looked back and said, ‘Hey Kell, we don’t have time to play.’ He didn’t take his eyes off her or move his mouth, but she clearly heard him say, 'Sit tight, I’ll be back in a tick and we’ll rap about that ride. And trust me, I’ve got all my teeth.'

Teeth aren’t all you got baby. I’ll need a saddle and spurs to ride you. That thought slipped before she could stop herself. He laughed out loud.

Mortified she began to wish a hole would open in the lumpy booth bench and swallow her whole. She was suddenly acutely aware that all the people in the adjacent tables were craning their necks to watch the action, or lack of it. As her head started pounding she also became aware she was holding her breath. As if he could read her thoughts, he said quietly, ‘Breathe.’

‘How do you know what I’m thinking?’

‘How do I KNOW? Darlin’ you are projecting so loud that I could hear you from the parking lot.’

As she looked back at him she became aware of a quiet in her head she hadn’t known since puberty. She could no longer hear the thoughts of all the people in the tables around her. It hadn’t been bad earlier, but the place had started filling up and she was aware the muscles in her neck were becoming more tense as the roar that was always in her head when she was around other people grew more intense. In a place like this she could usually concentrate on the loud music and get a measure of relief. But if anyone near her became emotional, or worse, aroused, there was no blocking their every thought.

As if he were following her thought process his look of amusement was replaced with concern. ‘Listen, I have to take care of something, but it won’t take long.’ The waitress walked up and sat her drink on the table. He stood up to his full towering height and stepped back so he was facing the waitress. As he moved, Stacia saw the muscles rippling under his shirt. ‘Put that on my tab and bring her what ever she wants to eat. She’s hungry and she needs to eat something.’

‘Sure thing Kell. I’ll get a menu. You want the usual?’ the bar maid said as she tapped a long sculptured nail against her tray.

‘Yeah, bring it here, I’ll be back’