toe stays cold

In brazen violation of a longstanding agreement with its host, the second-smallest left toe of thirty-something whorphan Dagobert Mikal Dillinger refused to warm up. No number of additional woolen layers and no increased proximity to heat sources could convince the stubborn digit to let in the heat. “Hells no I won't change – I likes it frigid,” the toe said while shunting warm blood to its neighbors. “Not until that scumbag finally turns the fucking heat on in this house and stops pretending to be hard enough to withstand the cold, as if he were some sort of polar bear, will I get warm willingly. It's bad enough during the day, but last night, we went to sleep without sufficient covers, and I had to wake Dagobert up twice so that he would drag me back in under the blankets and keep me from freezing off. Twice!”

The toe has seen its fair share of abuse: in the early Nineties, after having been rubbed to an open blister against the steel toe of Mr. Dillinger's work boot while he was on a cultural exchange mission in Israel, it's raw meat was plunged into the Dead Sea, whereupon it went numb for a month; neglected and overlooked, it has suffered regularly from bacterial infections caused by a buildup of lint and other gunk in the trough it shares with its direct shoe-mate, the little toe, because of a lack of regular washings; and, just this past summer, it was subjected to months of direct contact with sharp rocks and pointy sticks as part of Dagobert's policy of mowing the grass barefoot. The list goes on, according to the digit's claims, to include many a nocturnal stubbing and the occasional rasped cuticle.

“If DMD gets his shit together and finally puts on enough clothes to protect me and the other extremities from wanton exposure to frigid temperatures, I might – repeat, might – consider letting in some of the preheated bodily fluids that keep getting sent my way. It's not as if I like to flirt with Madame Frostbite, but I don't really see any other way to draw attention to my plight, and the plight of all those other digits who are too timid to speak out.” When last seen, Mr. Dillinger appeared to be mulling a hot foot bath, with the chance of full bodily submersion hovering at 35%.

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