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I woke up from a medical Scifi type of dream with my toes screwed up, a few nights ago that involved nerdy, specialist surgeons measuring metatarsals elasticity in a bid to separate each toe to an extra inch, so they become webbed. Basically it was back to front Darwinism - the angry oceans were claiming back the land and for a means of human survival webbed feet was imperative. The creaking noise of stretched toe tendons made me feel quite queer and with the rain beating hard on the window pane, it added to the drama - instantly I drew a connection with the webbed feet analogy. It wasn't until the morning that I realised another part of my dream jigsaw came apparent; my dearly beloved had used toe separators the night before in a toe vanity session.
A ritual is closer to the truth. I've learnt that any form of disturbances during her 'me' time festivals of glamour, is usually greeted with a sharp growl of annoyance. When it comes to painting her finger nails, she becomes notably incompetent
when it comes to touching anything, opening doors, closing doors, switching lights off and on, for approximately fifteen minutes after finishing her nails. She blows on her nails and shakes them simultaneously to quicken up the drying process, so she tells me, I think it's an excuse to deliver me rude gestures, to be honest. When the toe separator's come out I know that is an elongated festival of glamour. I therefore know I've got about ninety minutes before I embark on my own self grooming of ten minutes. I wasn't always so aware of this fact, because in the earlier days I was ready before she had finished her toe nail painting festivities. Therefore witnessing her toe paraphernalia at first-hand - I stared at her spanning her toes for the toe separator; she then delicately painted her toe nails, competently like a surgeon - breathing in the toxic fumes of nail polish - no wonder she appears so laboured while meticulously painting her toes and almost losing her balance while waddling around the bedroom on her heels, toes pointing upwards - Her little toes haven't a nail, it has a crease of where the nail would've been if it had materialised - she paints them just the same. I hazily observed.
This little piggy went to market.. this little piggy got separated from it's mum.
The toe separator's are comfortable (according to her of course) - the foam material are remarkably robust considering she attempts to walk with the toe separators still on, albeit she is on her heels, 80 percent of the time whenever she pops into the toilet for tissue, usually to mop up nail varnish spillage. If you can imagine a North Pole penguin walking to the water's edge, you're not far off the mark. For a lady of 'five foot six' - her size 'eight' feet deem slender and the toe separator is of perfect proportions for her pinkies; one toe in each separator. The big toe and little toe are dangling on the end as there are only three obvious toe separators. After the nail varnish application - it is advised the separator remains separating your toes for up to ten minutes thereafter, to stop any varnish smudges from occurring.
Overtime, I'm come to realise that the toe separators are a simple vanity addition, designed by man to make their lovely ladies walk like a penguin while making themselves look beautiful. The designer is probably the same type of person who wrote about the 'ugly duckling' - For a sad sod like me, I find it endearing - especially when they're so adept in high heels several hours later displaying confectionary looking 'Smartie' toe nails. Good enough to eat. E.L.F. products are generally a couple of pounds dearer than their competitors. 3.00 GBP for a couple of 'ELF - foam toe separators', is peanuts in anyone's eyes. The only downside is that they do make your toes stiff afterwards, according to my better half. Naturally, I offered to give her a foot massage later on.
At 2 a.m. the next morning she spanned out her toes on one foot and shoved them in my face, I counted eight toes and dropped off into a deep sleep.
Your ELFy outlook on the subject of toe-tal separation drives me to ask: What is it you put in your cocoa before retiring for the night? I know if I wrote in similar vein, the additive slipped into mine may well be my last...