Pizza Stone Toe Happens

Look at the life picture I've painted in 2017 and you'll see me falling in love, traveling across the globe and playing with lots of puppies. There were many bright spots, but I'd like to go on record along with the rest of America and say that overall this year was pretty much a little bitch. (Sorry mom.) Plus I've had to endure most of 2017 with only nine toenails. And if that isn't a metaphor for life, I don't know what is.

Social media me, sending chill vibes in 2017.

The real me, telling 2017 to lay off.

"You seem oddly... calm," my best friend, Suzie, says as she sits next to me less than two weeks after my latest breakup. As I prattle on and on about the man of the minute I found on some dating app, she remains skeptical. But obviously, I'M FINE. I mean, look at the evidence: I'm going on dates! Booking flights right and left! Taking up new hobbies! Unstoppable, I tell you!

A few days later, the simple task of reheating a piece of pizza confirms that I am not, in fact, fine. Apparently the sure-fire indicator I'm experiencing life trauma is to gauge my behavior in the kitchen. (cc: The Great Chocolate Chip Cookie Meltdown of 2013.)

"Place directly on oven rack OR ON PIZZA STONE." Danger ahead.

I cleverly decide to use a pizza stone for this task because A) I'm a new woman post-breakup who makes even dull tasks exciting, B) The reheating instructions told me to, and C) I had a pizza stone when I moved into my apartment two years ago and wonder if it still exists. Answer: it does! And in its original packaging no less! This becomes a problem when I lift the disintegrating box to about chest height and the pizza stone falls out the bottom, plummeting to the ground... by way of my toe.

I do not advise slamming a rock-like baking surface onto any appendages. It hurts. But that pain remains masked in the immediate aftermath because #adrenaline. I continue operating under this dumb-founded stupor and irrationally text Suzie (also my first call during the nail polish nightmare).

"I think I broke my toe," I explain plainly. "Do you have an ice pack?" I sound calm and rational; Suzie knows I'm anything but. She says she'll be there in 15 minutes, which turns out to be just enough time for me to COMPLETELY LOSE MY MIND. When she and her husband, Sean, find me, I'm crying on the floor while Roxie licks away my tears.

"This is how I'm going to die!" I wail. "This will be it! My toenail is going to fall off and it will never come back! No one will want to date, let alone marry, the girl with nine toenails. I'll become an old spinster. They'll find me like this, alone on the floor of my one-bedroom apartment with my dog licking my decaying corpse. I'm finished!!!"

We all have low moments. I just happen to be even more delusional and overly dramatic than most during mine. Also, maybe I’m not over that whole breakup situation.

After 30 minutes of coaxing from Suzie, plus 10 minutes of Sean searching for the first aid kit ("It's in my Caboodle." "WTF is a Caboodle?"), I finally calm down. Husband and wife then tag-team wrapping my toe and eventually leave me with my foot propped on a pillow and a piece of pizza on my lap. Sean was in charge of the reheating this time; there were no further injuries.

Now based on my behavior, you might look at this situation and say: "Homegirl is going through some things. Maybe she should deal with the emotions and the toenails to get herself back on track?"

But no. Rather than going to the doctor, I hobble through life while swollen pressure builds up in my foot. Rather than face the breakup insecurities, I fill all my spare time with dates in an attempt to find validation from strangers. I double book myself multiple times -- once at the same restaurant. My date finds me halfway through a meal and my second drink, seated across from a friend while straddling the table with my foot propped up on a stool. Seriously y'all. WHAT AM I DOING? Nothing but wasting time and getting in my own way.

It takes me a week to go to the doctor.

Three months to give up on a dead toenail.

Four months to silence the voice saying I'm not enough.

I don't reach the tipping point for any of these scenarios by living in denial. I get there when my own self awareness and a wallop of honesty finally beat out my stubbornness and pride.

So we're back to my bizarre/grotesque, yet relevant, life metaphor here. Things can be going along just fine and then WHAM, they aren’t. But refusing to open yourself up to painful realities (pizza stone toes) or your true feelings (heartbreak), is simultaneously shielding you from getting on with your life. 

It seemed easier to cling to this disgusting, dead toenail rather than start over. But while I was trying to salvage something that was already gone, I missed out on life. Big things like getting to swim in the ocean and little things like a weekday pedicure.

July in California. But I only got to look at that beautiful ocean. #ToeProbs

See what I'm getting at here? Holding onto what's already lost only keeps you from finding what's better. When I finally did cut out what was ailing me, I finally got back to actually living. The hard part is that nails don't grow back in a day, or even a month. You just gotta put nail polish on your bare toe and make do with what you've got.

Once you're back out there, you'll realize that no one is even looking at your feet. And what may seem like a big hole to you may actually be unnoticeable to others -- especially if you're good at playing the "I'm fine" game. So don't be afraid to ask for help bandaging yourself up. 

BRB. Busy living my best life with my toes in the sand.

I actually managed to salvage the pizza stone toe double date, and ended up seeing the guy on and off for several months. So despite my wailing, delusional predictions, maybe not all hope is lost for this nine-toenailed-wonder-girl. 

And all hope isn't lost for you either. Whatever your dead toenail... it's gross, ugly and killing your vibe. Get rid of it. There's always time to start over.

***Disclaimer: I have now reached my quota for stories about feet and using the world “toenail” for life. Promise.***