eat enough rumballs and you won't feel it anyway

i'm sitting at the kitchen table rolling rumballs in granulated sugar when D shuffles in.
- my toe hurts - he announces.
- what did you do to it? and can you bring me the rum please? it's right there.
- i didn't do anything.
the bottle of cruzan black strap materializes.
- and a glass?
he sighs and dodders to the cabinet and back.
- i have an ingrown toenail, i think.
- and pour? - i say, indicating the bottle with an elbow. he does, and waits.
- well what about my TOENAIL - he finally erupts. i look up.
- is it black?
he stares hard at me, then turns away disgusted.
- i don't know why i'm asking a runner - he upbraids himself, or me, or the dog, and sulks into another part of the house.

the second toenail on my left foot is blueing but that means i'm running trail again and that means life is pretty fuckin good.