the.cost.of.clean

Here's a picture of my foot. I painted my toenails yesterday in preparation for bar night at the enormous room. G was spinning one last time, and we all went over to hang out. Although I thought I did a good job, I can now see that I didn't. Luckily it was dark at the bar, and I don't make a habit of sticking my feet in my face. The pathetic part about all this is the three blisters I have on the tops of my middle toes. You know how I got them? Cleaning. Yup, jen and I scrubbed all the floors in the entire apartment on our hands and knees. They were so bad, and needed a once over before we could move on to a weekly mopping routine. It took two hours, and towards the end, I looked at my foot because it felt like I had some sand or grit stuck in it. That's when I realized that I'd rubbed my feet raw, past the point of blisters and on to ripped open cuts. The nail polish almost makes it worse because from a normal distance, it's the same color, and looks like I missed my nails and painted my toes. Nice.