Thursday 19th January

We all cut our toenails I am sure, though there may be some who do not, some tramps I suppose may simply wait for them to split and crack as they get too long for their shoes. As a child I can remember Grandma cutting my toenails, often after a bath ‘when they are nice and soft’ she used to say. At a certain age I took over this task myself.  And at another certain age I may have to surrender to another toenail cutter again.   Let’s hope that is a while off.

As I said we all cut our toenails, but what prompts us to do it.  I cannot imagine keeping a spreadsheet, or making a diary entry, a circled TN on the first of each month.  But I find that there is always an inescapable moment when my toenails are crying out to be cut.  It is invariably late at night, I may have been watching TV, barefoot, and as I am beginning to make my way to bed they start crying out to me, “Please cut me Catherine; it is time for those old nail scissors again.”   And I find I can never refuse their siren call – I simply have to go to my make-up bag and retrieve my dainty little nail scissors and no matter how tired I am I snip away.

And they are so thankful, my little toesy-woesy, they simply glow with satisfaction.

I am also one of those finicky people who like to collect their clippings into a little pile.  I can’t miss even one, as they jump out across the rug, trying to bury themselves in the deep pile.  I line them up by size on the arm of the sofa, amazed at the tiny flexibility of the baby ones, and the incredible thickness of my big toenails.  Into the bin I scoop them and walk free and easy again.  At last my feet can breathe, and I flex my toes in their new-found freedom.  I couldn’t possibly have gone another minute with those long nails.  And I never see it coming; I have no itchy warning signs, no cramped feeling in my shoes; no clues at all.  One minute I am all contentment, and the next those nails are just crying out to be cut.