There are toenail clippers hidden deep in the back of the bathroom closet, sunk at the bottom of my toiletries bag, abandoned on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet, sprawling carelessly on the marble sink counter-top beside the toothbrush holder. It's even possible there are toenail clippers still hanging off the end of my toenails that I completely forgot about mid clip. So many toenail clippers, so little actual toenail growth.
The thing is, I don't remember ever buying a single pair. So how did I accrue this record-breaking collection of toenail clipper? I suppose they could have been left in my house by absent-minded house guests. But I don't think I'd invite the sort of person who cuts their toenails in other people's homes. That's an ablution you perform in the privacy of your own domestic sanctuary.
Perhaps they were a promotional give-away free from my podiatrist; or included gratis with every six-pack purchase of extra-fine and very fragile silk socks. I certainly never paid money for any of these toenail clippers that now create so much clutter in my bathroom. Just another mystery of the foot, one amongst so many.
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