**Warning: This blog post contains pictures of, and conversations about, toes. If you have a phobia, look away now!***
Let me set up this story by saying this: My husband thinks I have cute feet. He tells me so all the time. (Although by no means does this constitute a fetish. I really do have cute toes. See?)
|It’s ok. You can say “Awww.” They really are cute.|
The other night, the hubs and I were having a nice, relaxing night at home. We were stretched out on the couch, my feet in his lap, watching bad TV. (It really is the perfect way to spend an evening.)
During a commercial break, my husband started tickling my feet. The following conversation ensued.
B: You have cute toes.
A: Just cute? Or really cute?
B: Really cute.
A: I’m glad you think so.
B: I do. In fact, I’m going to name them.
A: (Pause) You’re going to name my toes. (Thinking to self: awesome blog fodder!)
A: Ok. Go for it. Name my toes.
B: (Points to big toe.) This one’s Tony.
A: You’re naming my adorable big toe Tony?
B: Yeah, you know….”Toe-ny.” (giggle)
A: Oh. I get it. Ok, who’s next?
B: (Points to second toe) We’ll call this one Alberto. And this one (indicating middle toe) should be Gilberto.
A: So my toes are cute AND Italian?
B: Yep. We’ll round out the clan with Little Tony and Tony, Jr.
A: So, basically, I have the Italian mafia on the end of my foot.
If I’d had a thought bubble over my head, it would’ve contained the following image:
|Yep. Piedi means foot in Italian. You bet I Googled it.|
And if you’re thinking “I bet the only reason she told us this story was so she could put her toes in pin-striped gangster suits,” you’d be correct.