Bromidrosis

The lunchbell "rang", (it's electronic and usually has the same effect on me as 300 joules of cardiac resusitation) the kids eagerly scrambled for their lunchboxes and spilled out onto the deck to fill up on food. I snatched up my laptop and raced to the library, anxious to sort out that morning's f*ck ups on the server before I grabbed a coffee. I grasped the door* handle and pulled it sharply towards me. Nothing. It had jammed. I slid my fingers down the handle a little and pulled again, this time freeing the door from its frame and allowing it to swing sharply outwards...

Ouch! The razor- sharp aluminium corner of the door raked over my right foot, lifting a toenail and gouging out a strip of flesh. Resisting the urge to swear, I bit my lip, bent over and folded the flapping nail back into place. Leaving a bloody trail behind me I hobbled to the First Aid Room and asked a colleague for asssitance. By now the blood had pooled under my foot and was settling in gobs on the vinyl floor. All this was of very little concern to me. I had something else on my mind. "I wonder if she'll be offended by my stinkfoot?"

I know I have smelly feet, I won't try and deny it. Going barefoot seems to be the only way to alleviate the problem, but when my feet make contact with footwear the rot sets in. Even open toed "slides" can't protect me from it. The smell starts as soon as my feet leave their safe haven. They don't smell - they STINK!

(footnote: 3 weeks later- My toenail fell off today, unfortunately I don't know where or when. Presumably it will turn up at an opportune moment.)

*I use the term "door" loosely - it could just as accurately be described as a pedestrian guillotine, just waiting to slice and dice the first unsuspecting idiot/victim to saunter along in open toed shoes.