a little toe jam

We head home after drinking too much at JRs. As I undress, I notice that some stupid mother fucker stepped on my feet and I now have shmuts all over my big toe. I clean it off with a little elbow grease and then hop into bed with my Honey, where we both quickly fall out because were drunker than we think.

A few days later, I’m changing from my work clothes to my gym clothes and guess who’s back. The shmuts on my big toe makes a reappearance. Hmmm ... I wore my sandals yesterday, but I don’t remember anyone stepping on my toes. Oh well, clean it off again, this time with a bit more force, but I get it off.

A few days later ... it’s back and darker and meaner than ever! I go to our roommate Alain and ask him to check out my big toe.

“It’s a fungus.”
“No way!”
“Yes it is, I had it once and it looked just like that.”
“Fuck me, how do I get rid of this, Tinactin?”
“Oh no, over the counter meds are not strong enough. You have to get a prescription from your doctor.”

I put off making the appointment because I hate going to doctors.

A few days later, I’m taking off my dress shoes and socks and my big toe and two other little piggies are covered in mold. I'm repulsed at the sight of my left foot. I hop into the bathtub and whip out the alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, Tinactin, and even some Windex (hey it worked on the Greek).

Rub-a-dub-dub, one fag in a tub. I finally get most of it off.

I make an appointment the next day, but they can’t see me until the following day. I thoroughly coat my feet with the fine products listed above and head to work.

That evening - no new growth. Maybe over the counter is good enough. Maybe Alain was wrong. But I still keep my appointment because I’m classy that way.

At the office, I tell the doctor about the mold's inconsistent, yet persistent growth pattern and he takes one look at my foot and without hesitation says...

“Did you recently buy new black shoes?”
“Yes.”
“Did you wear them yesterday?”
“No.”
“Did you wear them the day you discovered the extreme growth?”
“Yes. Please don’t tell me I have a pair of moldy-brand-new-black-shoes from Kenneth Cole Outlet”
“No, this is not mold. It’s dye. It’s flaking off the inside top of your shoe and settling on your toes through your socks. Didn’t you notice your socks are discolored?”
“No, I wear black socks with black shoes. I know you should match socks to pants and belt to shoes, but I can’t help it, I think it looks better when you match socks to shoes and belt.”

(Way too much information to share with your doctor, but my doctor is gay and he knows these things and I didn’t want him to think any less of me for not following fashion protocol. I wanted him to know that I was fashion forward.)

“Throw those shoes away and things will begin to clear up. And while you’re here, let’s check your blood pressure, HIV status, and see if your syphilis levels have gone down."

(Damn that last trip to PR, there’s a certain little disease ridden muscle queen from Mayaguez that I’d like to meet up with again.)

Results: slightly high (recommendation, cardio, lose weight, eat more vegetables and fruits, and less salt - I can do three out of four, isn't salt it's own food group?), negative (phew, you can never be too safe), and negative (you CAN NEVER be too safe)!

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Well, since you asked. I’m going to Miami this weekend. And you never know when you’ll be invited to an orgy...?

“No problem, Viagra of Levitral?”

“Neither, Cialis please, BOING!”

I love my gay doctor and he loves the $140.00 charged to my Visa.

"Hey Alain, it turned out to be dye from the shoe."

"That's funny."

"Not so funny. I'm down $140.00 because of your expert medical advice."

"I never said it was a fungus."

"No, that's exactly what you said. But I still love you for caring and misinforming me."