Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Washed Up Harem Toe (syndrome akin to Turf Toe)



Ladies when you get a pedicure, please do not get a french pedicure.  Sick.  These feet are the most disgusting things I've ever seen.  And I'm not discounting the gross foot on the right.  Those nine inch nails are enough to make me vomit in my mouth AGAIN. Cut your toenails people. They are not meant to extend beyond your flesh.

No flip flops in the world can fix this. Not even if they're Chanel, no especially if they're Chanel.  And speaking of Chanel flip flops, seriously?  Seriously?  Ew. This talon-toed pork chop needs to bring it down a few notches.  Your sexy days are over.  The witch feet aren't going to help.

Love,
Katie

10 comments:

  1. I love Trash Talk Tuesdays! First Ben and now these toes. I'm trying to think of things I am grossed out by...stand by.

    Love,
    Kristen

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  2. I think you need to mention that you took this photo it wasnt just a gross toes google images pic. Where were you? Dubai?

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    Replies
    1. YES! I did take that photo at Le Pain Quotidien in Brentwood. I was trying to enjoy a cup of coffee at the table next to them and had to leave.

      The Horror.

      Love,
      Katie

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  3. OK people... I could not read the whole thing as it would make me ill like Katie's request for a commissioned painting of a piece called " my ass looks like play dough left in a hail storm"? Horrendous... That said, it reminded me of a Sedaris passage to which I could easily fall off my chair w/ laughter.

    Enjoy: Figuring the thief had good reason to return for more, I undertook a stakeout. My father's closet had shuttered, louvered doors that afforded a view of the entire room. I took my place, waiting a full hour before my mother entered the room shouting, "I don't give a tinker's damn what they do on Mount
    Olympus, in this house you don't boil a seven-dollar steak!" My intuition told me she was talking to my grandmother. Slamming the door behind her, she took a seat on the edge of the unmade bed. She stared down at her bare feet and then, as if she expected them to apologize for some trouble they'd recently caused, said, "Well, what have we got to say for ourselves?" She picked at her toenail for a moment before crossing the room to fetch a bottle of glossy polish from the top of her
    dresser. This was a new shade, the color of putty. Rather than highlighting the nails, it caused them to disappear into the surrounding flesh, creating a look both freakish and popular. I'd never understood why women bothered painting their toenails, especially my mother, whose crusty, misshapen talons resembled the shattered, nugget-sized Fritos found huddled in the bottom of the bag. She stood before the mirror, shaking the bottle and fretting at the sight of her brittle, frosted hair arranged into a listless style she referred to as "the devil's stomping ground."

    Sorry for the length, but found it too funny not to share.

    eL Teckle-Toe

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  4. eL Teckle-Toe,

    I'm a HUGE fan of David Sedaris. That excerpt made me howl. Thank Baby Jesus for you.

    Love,
    Katie

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  5. Thank you el t. When David s passages hit your blog comments it's a good day for funny.

    That being said. I haven't posted much about the toes above because I have no doubt that I will someday be the lady with the gnarly toes (of course I will trim them stop screaming at me!!) in flip flops. I can promise you this: they will never ever be Chanel flip flops.

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  6. Can't say I know much about name brand flip flops, or too much about these issues that appear to be fairly popular topics of conversation among you ladies, but if there's one thing I do know, and that is even if toes are in good, or gnarly shape as the case may be, I still think it best if I don't have to see them... I just don't get the toe thing...

    eL T

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    Replies
    1. eL T-

      I've made a note of your hate crime attitude toward toes. I'll make sure that I'm close toed in the north.

      Love,
      katie

      Delete
  7. El T you are missing out. Toes are the business.

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  8. Ha! Who knew I'd ruffle so many feathers about toes...

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