Thanks to the wonderful situation of have a toenail hanging half off its hinge and another on its way there, I am in granny socks these days. Everywhere. In the heat of the Mumbai summer. Trust me. People faint when they realise I’m wearing socks in this swelter that has most people throw off all the clothes they have on their body and want to run around with permanent shower booths attached to their person.
You know the granny socks. The skin coloured ones with the two toes to allow for easy chappal wearing. I’m wearing those. And needless to say, below the socks, the pedicured rest of the toes have been benignly neglected. I change them socks a couple of times a day and catch a quick glimpse of the offending toe nails and shudder involuntarily. How the mighty have fallen. These were toes that were never allowed to peek in public without impeccable pedicure. Shaped to perfection, coloured immaculately. In boring browns or biscuits or pinks, but coloured and shaped and cared for. Now they stare back at me sullenly, with their nail surfaces unbuffed, their edges unfiled, and uncoloured. Bare.
And I wear them granny socks with every kind of shoe. Osho chappals. Floaters. Stilettoes. Wedge Heels. Kitten Heels. Hell, why should I deprive myself of the pleasure of wearing good shoes, because my feet are in undisplayable condition right now. Considering that these are the feet of a woman who has always maintained you can tell how finicky a woman is about her appearance with one glance at her feet and the condition and suitability of her shoes, you can well imagine the internal torment I undergo every single day stepping out like a hick from the hills.
But then, given that nail stump cannot be removed. And is prone to snagging painfully on every random surface, I would rather be hick than happening in this matter. For the moment. I guess this is what happens when old age sets in. A younger me, I know, would have borne the pain of ripped toenail stoically in the cause of looking presentable. Ah, well, I’ve turned chicken. The day is not far off when blackhead removal and waxing seem like interrogation in the dungeon levels of torture I’m sure. Till then, let me walk gently towards that stage in them granny socks. With the two toes for better grip. We grannies skid easily and fracture hip bones too. Though, I think my hip has traded in the bone for fat a while ago. Or said bone is so well upholstered it shows no evidence of being present in said hip.
Perhaps, a trip to the mall for some better socks is in order. And some better, more forgiving of broken toe nail shoes too!