The big toe of my right foot has no toenail, only an empty place where a toenail once clung. It looks like a lunar crater caused by an oblong meteor.

"Ye gods!" you exclaim, "How could this happen??!"

When I was younger, I had serious trouble with a renegade toenail, which seemed to take a fiendish delight in repeatedly burrowing deep into my flesh. After I suffered three ingrown toenails the podiatrist just decided to cut it off and douse it with a chemical that would prevent it from growing again, kinda biblical, like salting the earth.

Sure. Why not? The little bastard never did me much good anyway. Maybe if I'd had prehensile toes, I would have thought harder before allowing a doctor to perform a procedure on me which would render me unable to open a can of Mountain Dew with my feet forever. I was never flexible enough to scratch my head with it, and, even if I wanted to paint it, I'm too mystified by bottle caps with brushes attached to them to use them properly.

The only person who it seems to bother is my roommate, who says, "That is just...wrong." whenever he happens to notice that he and my naked toe are sharing the same airspace.