TOUGH TOENAILS

“I cut my toe nails every two to eight weeks.”  Jerry Seinfeld.

It must have been nine weeks since I trimmed mine.  So I decided, what better way to spend a summer evening than to sit on the patio with family (wife Andrea and son Max were with me) and trim my toenails in the backyard.  In plain view of neighbors walking dogs, riding bikes or jogging for health.

After a a great deal of grunting and straining from bending in half to reach the damn things, I sat back and admired my handiwork.

Have you ever cleaned something like the garage or junk drawer and thought, “What the hell have I been waiting for?”  And once you get past that bit of self loathing, a warm sense of satisfaction spreads through your body.  You look at your neat new buddy and feel proud, almost happy that you waited so fucking long because the payoff is so great.

Yeah, it was like that.

Andrea and Max gave me shit for:

 Cutting my toe nails in broad daylight.

 Having the toenails of the hill people of Kentucky.

 Not immediately cleaning up my droppings.

I did not care, I was loving my new pink buddies and tried to defend the indefensible.

During this spirited defense, I looked down and asked,  “What the hell kind of bug is that?”  What appeared to be a quarter inch long off white bug was making it’s way across our brick paved patio.  It was moving in an unsteady back and forth pattern away from me.

Andrea got up to inspect.  She studied the bug for a long time before straightening and crying out.

“That’s no bug.  It’s an ant making a getaway with your toenail.”

Max and I scrambled to our feet and studied the little fella.  One solitary ant was towing my grotesque nail across the peaks and valleys of our patio.  He made good time across the tops of the bricks, but stalled in the routed areas between the bricks.  But that son of a bitch never quit.  He just tried different angles and kept moving.

Soon other ants joined in until eight toenails were moving across the patio (I say eight as my baby toes are so odd that they don’t really have a nail).   

The ants dragged them until they came to their homes in between the bricks.  Then they tugged the nails into their lair.

Lot’s of theories on why.  I heard food, protection and insanity.  My brother Tony later chalked it up to decoration, theorizing that my toenails were proudly being displayed on eight different ant living room walls. 

Either way, aren’t you glad that I am a swine.

Cheers!  Jim