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MY TOES


I broke 2 toes. The second and third on my left foot. I didn’t break them in the snow during the storm or doing anything sexy. No. I broke my toes banging into the cocktail table in my living room, getting up from the sofa to go out for dinner with my husband.

The cocktail table belonged to my 98-year-old-mother-in-law. She gave it to us when she moved into her apartment at ‘the place’(that’s Roz Chast’s name for assisted care and nursing home facilities.). My mother-in-law took all her furniture to the place except for the cocktail table. She said she banged into it too much.

My turn. The doctor who x-rayed my foot, taped my toes, and gave me the boot said I have to wear it for 6 to 8 weeks and cannot go to the gym.

Last week, at street corners when there was still slush from the storm, I asked people to help me cross. They did. They took my hand. I gave them mine. People are so kind.

Now I pretty much get around without much trouble.

The best part about banging into the long, wide table my mother-in-law gave us: for 6 to 8 weeks, I don’t have to go to the gym.

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