A Small Miscalculation

How many toes does one man need anyway?

Photo by Alicia Christin Gerald on Unsplash

Good intentions mean nothing the second you nick an artery. One small mistake, and people become so ungrateful.

As a nurse, I have an abnormal fascination with the macabre and grotesque. Sometimes this manifests in an endless reel of pimple popping and ingrown hair videos. Other times, I tackle the real deal to get my fix.

There is nothing like digging out an ingrown toenail to decompress after a long week of adulting.

I like to think that I am a relatively skilled operator. I can excise just about anything while inflicting minimal pain on my patient. My husband Scott, however, feels that I am vicious and without compassion.

And his whining, “Oh stop! It hurts!”, while I work at a pimple on his shoulder can really take the fun out of it for me.

Enter my dad.

Dad never complains. When asked if it hurts he will say simply, “Nope,” through gritted teeth.

Like a man.

So naturally, for his 60th birthday, I decided to give him a fabulous gift. A free pedicure from me.

He would get baby soft feet that didn’t hurt to walk on — seriously, the callouses were out of control — and I would get to explore the pre-historic rock beds that are his feet.

You might think I am exaggerating, but I can assure you his heels were a picker’s paradise. Little bits of sharp, dry skin sticking up everywhere. Toenails growing at unnatural angles. To say it was satisfying would be an understatement.

I brought all my tools.

Large nail clippers, or ‘side cutters’ according to Dad: check.

Nail file, also known as sandpaper: check.

Cuticle pusher, referred to exclusively as ‘the stick’: check.

Foot file, you guessed it- cheese grater: check.

And finally, the crown jewel, ordered specifically for this occasion.

Callous shaver.

A wooden handle with a razor blade at the end for cutting off callouses like a peeler takes the skin off an apple- check.

I thought my mom would be thrilled with this thoughtful gift. Instead, she immediately balked at it. Something about him losing a toe or ending up in the emergency room.

Scott wasn’t impressed either.

Weird.

But Dad and I were not going to be deterred. He was ecstatic. As soon as I showed him my collection of tools, he ran off and came back with a tub of hot water to soak his feet.

It was all going great until it wasn’t.

I still don’t know where we went wrong.

My razor-on-a-stick was working wonders. Little ribbons of dead skin were flying every which way, like a beautifully gross snowstorm. His heels were turning from a jagged rock bed to baby soft pillows.

I lifted the razor for one last peel and skillfully brought it down.

But it felt… different.

Like slicing through bread instead of butter.

Then the blood started spurting.

I grabbed the towel beside me on the floor and shoved it over the gaping wound on the side of his big toe.

“What happened?” Dad asked, looking up from his paper.

“I’m so sorry! You didn’t even flinch,” I said, putting more pressure on the toe.

“It didn’t hurt. Is it bad?”

I pulled the towel away.

Blood streamed down his foot.

“Yep. I’d say it’s pretty bad.”

I attempted to fit a standard bandage over the ‘scrape’, but it refused to stick.

“I think I might need help to get this fixed,” I said standing up.

“Get some electrical tape and wrap that sucker up! Don’t tell your mother. Quick!”

“I’m not wrapping your foot in tape! Are you insane?”

“Shhh! Keep it down,” Dad hissed. “It’s on the desk over there. Hurry it up!”

Dad leaned down to take over holding pressure as the towel turned a darker shade of red.

I was just about to cut the first length of tape when Mom appeared from around the corner. I looked at her with wide eyes.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded.

“Nothing. We’re good here. All fine. Why don’t you go pour yourself a glass of wine?” Dad interjected before I could answer.

“Just tell m- Oh my god! Is that blood?”

“So, about that-” I started as Scott came around the corner.

“Does anyone want a- what the hell did you do to your dad’s foot?”

“Well, it was going great and then-”

“You’re a menace, you know that?” Scott said, turning around and immediately going to inform my brother and sister-in-law that Dad was bleeding out in the kitchen.

“He didn’t say it hurt or that I was getting close to live skin.” I pleaded to Mom as she got on the floor for a closer inspection.

“He can’t feel his feet, you lunatics!”

I turned slowly to Dad, “Is that true?”

Dad stared at me blankly and chewed his bottom lip.

After extensive consultation between the entire medical team now occupying the kitchen, we decided to steri-strip the half toe back together and wrap it all in self-adhering gauze.

After the excitement was over and Dad and I were left to decontaminate the kitchen, I grabbed the basin of water to dump it out.

Dad stopped me.

“Think we could shave a little more off the other foot?” He asked, hopeful.

“Well,” I shrugged, “It’s your birthday.”

And I started on the other foot.

Because I am an excellent daughter.

🖱️ Click [MuddyUm humoristas](https://muddyum.net/amy-sea-to-toni-crowe-clickable-access-to-feature-pages-3088106c0c45) to find hidden feature pages.

🖱️ Click here to subscribe to Muddyum’s newsletter, “The Real Dirt.”

✔️ Check out our links.

🚢 The publishing mother ship.

🫶🏼 Support writers. All our non-profit’s offerings here.

Brand art by David Todd McCarty