I got together some supplies: a spool of thread, lots of ice, some alcohol (rubbing sort) and a small torch from when my wife was obsessed with crème brulee. And of course, a huge pair of snips. Gigantic. Really too big for the job. I tested everything to make sure it worked: the thread was wrapped very tightly around the spool, the ice was very cold and a little wet, the alcohol smelled like a doctor’s office. It took several clicks to get the small torch going, but once it did, it shot out a tiny blue flamer that was extremely satisfying.

Which toe? Probably not the big toe. I read somewhere once that when you run, the big toe is the last part of the step that propels you forward. I could just see me out there, trying to run, going in circles, basically, and people whispering to each other “why is he going in circles? Doesn’t he have a big toe?”

One of the smaller toes would do. I didn’t want my shoes to fit funny: all my life my shoes would fit funny, and then I took up running, and finally I got shoes that were perfect for my feet. Correct support, cushioned heels, nice big toebox. I love that word, toebox. It’s such a great word! As I was gathering my supplies and looking around for fresh towels and something to bite on (just in case), whenever doubt would try to niggle its way into my head, I would thing “toebox” and it would make me smile.

So a smaller toe, but not the pinkie toes. Too easy. Might not be enough. I’d hate to lose a toe, only to find I somehow still had too many toes! Because I don’t think I had too-too many toes, or two-too many. One should do it, one of the middle ones.

I figured the best place to do it was the bathroom because there’s a tub there, and the toilet in case the sight of blood, burning flesh, or the discarded toe itself made me sort of queasy. I was all out of Pepto Bismol at the time but I had some Dramamine leftover from the honeymoon cruise. The bathroom is decorated in a kind feudal Japanese style, very tranquil and nearly Zen. Sometimes when I’m sitting in there I think about what life must have been like in feudal Japan. Then I realize that Japan was feudal for a long long time, and life in one era might have been very different form another!

I took the phone in there with me and gave my mom a quick call, just in case. She answered the phone, and I said Hello mother, and she said What’s this mother nonsense? And said What do you mean? And she said You always call me ma, or mom. And I said But never mommy, you cured me of that when I was just a kid, and she said You’re darn right I did, and I said Cause you didn’t raise no namby pambies, did you? And she said Hell no! And we both had a good laugh.

So I told her about how I thought maybe I had too many toes, and she asked how many did I have, and I told her ten, and she said That sounds like the normal amount, and I said, Yeah, but normal for one man might be too many for another, and she said Well your father, and I said God rest him, and she said Yes, your father, he had ten, I’m pretty sure, and I’ve got the ten, and your brother’s got the ten. And I said Still, I was thinking maybe I should go ahead and cut one off. And she said I was never one to get in your way.

I have to admit I had the phone cradled on my shoulder while I was talking to her, and I was wrapping the thread around my ring toe on my left foot, and then I switched it to the middle toe on my left foot, and that seemed weird, so I went back to the, what do you call it, index toe? On my right foot. There was a slight pause in our conversation, which meant she was probably watching TV or petting her cat, a filthy Siamese beast that hates everyone. So I said, So, how are things, and she said Don’t get me started. She said I don’t want to end up like all those other mothers who can only complain to their children about bursitis and sciatica and hip troubles. And I laughed, and said, What’s with this mother nonsense, and she laughed too.

Then I said I’d better get off the phone and take care of this toe, and she said alright, thanks for the call, and when are you finally going to get married? And I sighed like I always do, and she said are you even dating someone? And I sighed because you cannot argue with this woman. I said love you ma, got to go, and she okay, love ya too son, and we hung up.

I finally decided on the left ring toe. Out of all the toes, it seemed to be the most toe-like and the least essential. I didn’t want to lop off my big toe, like I said, which was very toe-like, probably the most, and also very essential. And the pinkie toes were not essential at all, but hardly toe-like either. The middle toes and index toes seemed kind necessary, especially on my right foot, as they made a pretty good toe outline with the big toe right there. And I had kind of a sentimental attachment to my right ring toe, from when I broke it playing basketball. It hurt like a mother, let me tell you, but as it was healing up I would end up talking to it, sometimes for hours.

Then the phone rang, and it was my mom. She said, I know your busy, but I wanted to catch you. For the pain, you’re going to want something stronger than aspirin, and ibuprofen’s not going to cut it—that’s just for swelling. Do you have any Tramacet or Ultram ER? I said I would check, but that it should be okay, it was just a toe. She said alright then, and I said goodbye mother, and we both giggled, and I hung up the phone.

I took a look at the snips, holding them this way and that, looking at the gleam on the edge. They sure looked sharp. I began to wonder if they should even be that sharp. I mean, if they cut too cleanly, what if the blood didn’t have anything to clot onto? I called 311, which is like 911, but non emergency. I guess you could say it’s the Police 411. I made a mental not to myself, next time I was bored and near a pay phone, to drop quarters and call all the number-11s to see if they called places to. Finally a voice answered, and I said I had a question about blood loss, and the person said is this an emergency? And said Oh gosh no, and they Said please hold.

While I waited I flexed my toes this way and that, flicked ‘em with my fingernails. The ice was melting pretty darn fast, so I considered hanging up and getting some more. But finally a voice answered, and said can I help you, and I said yes, if I have a cut on my toe, would it be possible to bleed to death? And the voice said most likely not, how big is the cut? And I said, Worst case scenario, the whole toe comes off, and the voice said, Well, the posterior tibial artery branches into two plantar arteries, one of which... then there was pause. Wait a minute, the voice said. And said yes? And the voice said Do you have any kind of background in medicine, anatomy, healthcare of any kind? And I said No, and the voice sort of laughed and said Then what do you want to hear a bunch of mumbo jumbo from me for, and I sort of chuckled too. Then the voice said, Short version, I don’t think you can bleed out from a chopped off toe.

So I said thanks, and hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and started wrapping the thread around my left ring toe. I got the thread god and tight, watching the blood drain out until it get cold, and looked all white and less and less like a toe with each passing second. I splashed alcohol all up and down the blades of the snips, and all over my foot, and for good measure, I poured a bit on the mini torch and a bunch on the floor of the tub. I grabbed ice by the handful and ran it all over my foot, which was an odd sensation, because the cold started to ache everywhere but my ring toe started to feel warm!

Then I placed the snips on either side of the toe, right up against where it attached to my foot, took a big breath, and realized I didn’t have anything to keep the toe in when I was done.

Which, I have to admit, made me kind of sad. Because I just knew I would have to go get something, like a Tupperware bowl. I mean, I couldn’t let the thing just slosh around in the tub while I howled in pain, cauterized the wound, wrapped myself in towels drenched in alcohol and hobbled back to the kitchen for a soda and maybe some leftover potato salad. My wife made that salad before she left. We were married, what, 3 months?

Here I was, all set to go, and now I’d have to go back, get the Tupperware, and basically start all over again. I unwrapped the thread from my toe, which immediately made it feel even hotter than before, and it started to throb something awful. I considered looking for the Ultram but couldn’t be bothered. I dumped the rest of the ice in the tub, stood up, and sort of walk-limped back into the living room to put away the thread and the torch and snips. My heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Maybe some other day.

Then I realized I was still carrying the rubbing alcohol too, so I went back to the bathroom to put it in the medicine chest. I looked in the mirror at my face for a bit. I don’t know why she left me. Easy come, easy go, I told myself. But still. I looked at my face for a little while longer. At my nose. I kind of have a big nose.