Just as I am exhibiting some of the less attractive features of growing older, my grandkids seem to be taking an uncanny interest in my anatomical anomalies. Translation: If something about me looks weird, the kids are anything but shy about pointing it out and demanding explanations.
Several years ago, when Zoomie asked me why I had "witch fingernails," I didn't think much about it. A chronic nail biter through my childhood, teen, and even young adult years, I was proud that my nails (all natural, I might add) had grown to medium-long and were good for gently scratching little backs at bedtime.
It wasn't much different last summer when Pooh seemed to be staring at me with a strange, curious expression. Finally, in a tone of wonder and amazement, he pointed out a "really long hair" growing from my chin. Those stray single hairs, which I like to call "chin wires," are not all that unusual these days.
But during the past week I have been asked if a mole on my collarbone is "a raisin" (honestly, it is nowhere near THAT big) and why there is a "little seed" on my lower lip. This, in case you too are curious, was an especially persistent flax seed from my Uncle Sam breakfast cereal (those little rascals have a mind of their own).
"Why do you eat cereal with seeds?" Bootsie asked, to which I replied, "because it has 10 grams of fiber per serving." This, of course, led to a discussion of the benefits of dietary fiber, a conversation which needs not be repeated here.
Perhaps the most interesting of our recent chats, however, centered on the bunion that protrudes from my right foot.
As you can see, the abnormal and rather unsightly condition of my foot offers tantalizing fodder for conversation. When interrogated, I spilled out the sad story of The Curse of the Narrow Heel. This, I told the kids, often required me to wear shoes that were too narrow for the wider part of my foot in order for them not to slip up and down on my heels. (Shoes with too-big heels, I explained, tended to fall off at inopportune times.)
The fact that my right foot is a little bigger than my left one only compounded the problem, resulting in a bunion that has worsened gradually over the years. The kids seemed satisfied with this explanation--but first they all had to actually touch the bunion to see if I was making all this up. "Poor little bunion," Pooh said, and I considered the subject closed.
That is, until the kids' parents brought them, from the weekend garage sales in our little lake village, a magnetic dart board. In the process of tossing darts and comparing scores, they found that some darts, because of their magnetism, stuck sideways out from the board rather than landing flatly on the face of it.
The kids labeled these errant shots "bunions." "Bunions" in darts, I guess, are kind of like "leaners" in horseshoes; they are not quite "ringers," but they ought to count for something. Following are some of the "scores" I heard coming from the kids' room during an especially competitive game of darts:
"Twenty points and a bunion."
"Oh, man, I just missed getting a bunion."
"Oh, wow--TWO bunions this time."
"Darn it, I didn't even get a bunion."
"One more bunion, and I would have won."
"I beat you by a bunion."
Most people wish secretly and fervently for something to be named after them. They hope for one thing that will stand out long after they are gone--that one thing that will honor their memory in years to come.
I am so proud to have accomplished this while I am still living. I foresee that, down the line, the game of darts will be forever changed--all because of me and my unsightly right foot. At least, I think that will happen.
To the normal eye, I may appear to be just a Googie with a wire on my chin, a raisin on my collarbone, and a seed on my lip. But as you see here, I am so much more than that. I can only hope the full significance of this will dawn on you the next time you find yourself in a heated game of darts.
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