I have recounted my first brush with death where my heart stopped beating and I had to be brought back in the ambulance. It pales in significance, but I also had four mangled toes which seemed to point in all directions after I recovered.
When I was five I lived in Japan and I kept stubbing my right big toe for some unknown reason. A few times was an oddity, but it was reminiscent of the Frasier episode where he was trying to learn how to ride a bike. If I was walking or running it was with one-hundred percent certainty that I would stub my big toe.
You could bank on it.
I ended up having the discolored nail yanked out by its roots in vintage 1959 military medicine.
Now, after nearly an entire lifetime, I have had ten major surgeries on my feet, leaving me with a grand total of three toes and a numbing sensation that will be my constant companion in my waking hours forever.
Oh, I forgot.
I also have five cute little plastic toes on the cute little plastic foot on my prosthetic leg.
Still freaks me out.
I was never a foot fetish type of guy. I mean I can appreciate an elegant, tan foot as opposed to a pair of clodhoppers, right?
Far from a prude, there are very few things I won’t attempt when it comes to giving or receiving pleasure.
Sucking toes is one of them.
“They are clean. I washed them.”
I am sure you have blown your nose at some time recently too, but I have no desire whatsoever to stick my tongue up there either.
The human body can and will take a lot in the course of your lifetime.
The best advice I can give?
Take care of your feet.
You only have to look around to see a walker, cane, or prosthetic limb in use, and believe me brothers and sisters, it is much more fun and fulfilling if you take care of your pods so they will be there for you when you need them.
I know it is wrong and I admit to being stupid and letting macho Mexican ego and vanity creep in, but I put up with far too much pain when I go for a walk because I don’t want to be seen as an invalid and use a walker or cane in public.
Karen’s Domestic Despot Lecture Series 2000.
Don’t get her started.
In my freshman year of high school, I went through a stage (thankfully a short one) where my feet would sweat into my tennis shoes (no socks of course) and they would smell to high heaven.
I couldn’t get far enough away from them.
I was actually a decent athlete, but I was constantly abusing my feet in the form of pulls, strains, and breaks.
My medical history includes a time when I had two broken feet and two broken legs.
At the same time.