I've been waiting for this moment for a while now.
The second toenail on my left foot - let's call him Fred - has been black since the Brussels marathon, threatening to fall off. For the New York marathon, I strapped him on with zinc oxide tape, but to be honest he'd already given up the ghost.
Not even a post-marathon pedicure at New York's uberspa, Townhouse could save him.
Nope, Fred had had enough of this world, he wanted to go.
Tired of being bumped about endlessly, sweated on and encased in a trainer, he dreamt of a more glamorous life, of Christian Louboutin, parties and pedicures.
And so, this Saturday, after a particularly intense dance class, Fred The Nail gave in, abandoning his nine brothers and sisters, jumping off, hoping for a better time in the next life. The nine remaining nails wait and watch in earnest to see if another nail will grow back in his place...
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