Taking foot hygiene too close to edge

Dec 17 2007 by Andrew Flynn, Huddersfield Daily Examiner

WHAT a performance. The cats ran for cover and I kept falling off the settee.

There has to be an easier way of cutting your toenails.

I know this may be a subject that is less than tasteful but it is an essential part of personal grooming that we all have to undertake.

But it is so inelegant, uncomfortable, messy and downright dangerous to passing pets.

That is why I avoid tackling it until it is essential which is usually when I can no longer walk properly and my feet are turning into a werewolf.

To be honest, I begin to panic a bit when my nails get to the long and curly stage in case I trigger an irreversible change in my metabolism and I wake up one morning as a fully fledged hairy lycanthrope who howls at the moon.

I wonder if my wife Maria would notice?

“By heck, but you need a shave this morning. You look terrible. How do you feel?’

“Ruff.”

Anyway, rather than slip over to the dark side and develop a taste for Chum, I decided to cut my nails.

First problem is reaching them. I mean, at a certain age your body loses its suppleness and I never was able to master the lotus position, even in the fullness of youth.

In fact, my legs were so short I couldn’t even cross them without considerable discomfort and always envied those lithe models who could entwine their limbs like pipe cleaners.

So, grasp a foot in one hand, wield the extra long clippers in the other whilst priming my responses to let go and catch whatever flew off. The result being that I flew off – the edge of the settee.

Well, leather can be slippy when you’ve no clothes on.

Oh. didn’t I mention that bit?

When I did cut nails, they flew like shrapnel and the cats ran.

Afterwards, I had to crawl about on the rug in front of the fire trying to find the bits, which is not an elegant position in which to be discovered by your wife.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying not to become a werewolf.”

“Pardon?”

“Looking for toenails.”

“They’re on the end of your feet.”

At which point I gave up and cast her a steely look.

“Cutting your toenails is one of the most difficult jobs known to man,” I said.

“No it isn’t,” she said, but then, she used to be a lithe model and had those limbs that she could entwine like pipe cleaners.

“But how on earth can you do it without making a mess?” I said.

“Easy,” she said. “Use a plastic bag.”

Over the years I have grown use to my wife’s lateral thinking that has led her to shave carpets, nail down rugs and Hoover the dog.

But this time I could see the beautifully simple logic in the idea. With your foot in a plastic bag, the nails are trapped.

Brilliant.

This could be one of those revolutionary ideas like Post-It notes or Tupperware that could make me a millionaire.

Except, how do I patent a plastic Morrison’s shopping bag as an essential aid to foot hygiene?