I’ve always been a little clumsy. I’ve tripped over objects, animals, people and my own feet on flat surfaces more times than I can count ever since before I can remember, and I’ve fallen off bicycles, skateboards, snowboards and rollerblades enough times to sustain hairline fractures in my knees and elbows. But this year, I seem to have become a walking accident of fatal proportions. Back in January, I fell down a stationary escalator, taking a chunk out from under my big toe and bleeding freely all over the top floor of The Curve. In June, I slipped while walking up the stairs of my own home, and lost some skin on my shins.
And then, almost three weeks ago, I stubbed my big toe. Twice. In the same spot. In less than 24 hours. The first time was as Afham and I were leaving a friend’s open house, and the mortification of having almost landed flat on my face in public took my mind off the pain caused by the flagstones in the driveway. The second time was the very next afternoon, when I slipped while going upstairs (again) and drove the very same toe into the step. At that point I was past all dignity and stood on the step, waiting for the blinding pain to pass, for so long that eventually I had to give up and hobble onto the couch, where Afham and Offa sat with the most unsympathetic looks on their faces.
I immediately noticed my entire toe turning blue, and briefly wondered if I had actually broken it, the pain was so bad. When I could move my toe again without fainting, I looked more closely and saw that the blue was receding from my toe and converging into my nail instead. The blue, mixed with the pink nail polish of my week-old French pedicure, made my nail look purple, and I realized that the indignity of being massacred twice in the same spot had made my toe bleed underneath the nail, thus forming an enormous blood clot that has spread ever since.
So on Wednesday, after I had allowed the girls at Beauty Base Bangsar to exclaim over my dark purple toenail and inability to stay upright on my feet and survive, I decided my new pedicure would have to conceal the bleed until it had grown out on its own. Now this was a surprisingly difficult decision to make because I’ve spent the last four years getting a French pedicure every month, and I had forgotten what a solid color would look like.
So now, after much persuasion from all the girls in the salon, I have nails that looks like this:
While I think the color is pretty on its own and I’m proud of myself for not choosing a tacky color like puce, I’m still not used to seeing my toes like this. I think colors like this are meant for more mature women, and the strong shade makes me more aware of my feet than ever. Hopefully my nail will grow out fast enough and I can go back to the muted shades of my French manicure. Until then, I will probably have to go through at least another cycle of this color, and therefore spend the next two or three months looking like Morticia Addams south of my ankles.