There is something almost frightening about Skinner toes. Far from the cute little nubs most people dote on and pamper on a weekly basis, Skinner toes are long. They have nails only slightly less thick than armor. They jut out in random directions. And, without fail, they will whack into any object, preferably a heavy one, that come into their paths.
Someone famous said that objects in motion stay in motion until met with an equal and opposite force (or something to that effect). Far from disobedient to scientific law, I find that my feet embody this principle like it's going out of style. I'm starting to feel that it is some sort of karma; that somewhere close to the base of my family tree, a Skinner running his/her taxidermist shop in Old Germany insulted someone else, which led to our podiatric demise:
Old German Skinner: "Welcome to Ye Olde Skin Shop. You kill it, we skin it fer yah." (evidently a German accent can also be read as Irish when I type)
Random person: "Here's my deer. Skin it well."
Old G.S. : "For sure. That will be 100 (insert German money here)"
Random person: "Bloody Hell! What a rip off!"
G.S.: "I swear to you on my lovely, untouched feet...I'm not ripping you off!"
(as German Skinner walks away, large dead animal falls on feet, crushing all bones, nails, shoe...etc.)
G.S. "Oh Gee Golly! Rats!"
And thus began the karmatic journey of constant injury and embarrassment.
As a 3rd grade teacher, I am on my feet a LOT. I see my coworkers wearing heels, pumps, boots, etc. and I shake my head at them in awe. I stick to decorative flip flops and TOMS for the most part. However, a couple of weeks ago I decided to face my fears and wear trendy shoes.
I have this pair of heels that are absolutely awesome. They are gator skin, bronze, and cost me all of about 15 bucks at Target. Every time I wear them, I have to soak my feet afterwards. But for some reason, I always think that my feet will "get used" to them if I wear them just one more time.
By the end of the day, I felt as though two bears had bitten my ankles and I was dragging their bodies around. With merely minutes left, I took my shoes off as I walked around the room checking on my kids. "Surely nothing can happen in 20 minutes..." Skinner logic working its magic. As I felt a tap on my shoulder, I turned to see a child waaaay too close to me, invading my personal space bubble. Natural reaction: do some kind of weird, jerk-y dance to get away from said child. In the process, my leader toe that is as long as my pinky hit the bottom METAL circle at the bottom of my desk.
It was all I could do to not have this reaction:
"OIDF(WE*J*(E$N(GNIJSDNG(FUNG(RGN(R*(TJ*(RNGD(*(HH#$*YTRH$T*$&"
Instead, I smiled and said, "Oops, Ms. Skinner thinks she might need to put her shoes back on.".....thinking "it's broken I'm bleeding GOING TO DIE..."
However, I am not surprised. As a Skinner, I suffer from the curse that all toes run the risk of brokenness, of bruising, of loss of nail, etc. There is a massive bruise underneath the nail now, weeks later. I'm strangely fascinated by it. Will it go away? Will I ever lose the nail? Should I put a hole in it or something to drain it out? I should paint it...but then again, I like looking down seeing the constant reminder that I, Caty Skinner, am not a heel wearer. I belong in a comfortable shoe and will gladly retire as that teacher who wore things like Crocs and Keds to work.
