An Open Letter to the Cheese Growing in Between My Toes

From the Desk of C. Abal

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Dear whitish semi-translucent somewhat curdish looking substance,

freeloading between my left and right baby toes and their respective next-door neighbours:

Now look — I consider myself a patient man. Not Ghandi patient, or even Obama patient, but certainly more than Rush Limbaugh patient or Alec Baldwin patient. But your persistent and unwarranted existence is really becoming a source of irritation, both in a physically literal and a more abstract psychological sense. In no uncertain terms, I am demanding that you shove off immediately.

Now I think it's important to consider that this relationship did enjoy an initial period of relative comfort and mutual tolerance. For the longest time indeed, I hardly noticed you, and even when I did, your existence was more of a curious kind of curiosity than the 24-hour torment which it currently is.

I accept that I did not approach this as openly and honestly as I'm doing so now — and this is my shortcoming. Yes, it was wrong of me to begin lathering you excessively with medicinal soap and over the counter fungicide. Yes, that tolnaftate cream must have been unpleasant for you to endure. But most unpleasant of all was my lack of communication about the reasoning behind all of this.

So I'm just going to say now what I should have said all those years ago — I'm not ready for this kind of relationship. I need to be my own man — for now, and perhaps forever.

Hoping you'll understand,

- Me.