They loved their days with the flip-flops. Some days the zephyr ran through the toes, the dust settled on them. On others the heat parched their skin, the sun gave them a tan. Each toe was on its own and yet with the foot. Happy, content, aloof. Then there came a day when they all had to slip into a prim formal shoe instead of their usual flip-flops that they were so accustomed to by now. It took them a while to fit in well, but once they did they were all set to walk confidently.
A little way down the lane they felt it for the first time. It did not seem to be a problem then. Ignoring it, they moved on. But the prick in the toe continued to grow with every passing moment. The foot smarted painfully with every step it took. The day was a long and tiring one. By the end of it, it was a task for them to hold on together without wincing. The first sign of relief came close and they finally crawled out of the shoe. A gush of fresh air lent them some respite, but it was not long lived. For then the realisation dawned upon. The prick was caused by a nail, wildly overgrown. It had dealt a deep puncture on it's neighbouring toe. The days with the tidy shoes were far from gone. They'd come again, and they'd be aplenty. There would be no avoiding those long tiring days. As the injured toe - despondent with pain - trembled helplessly, it was decided that the time had come to trim the nail. Trimmed though it was, the damage was done. The hapless dactyl lived with a cicatrice for as long as it did.
We all have that wild overgrowth in our lives. It is happy-go-lucky in the flip flops but pricks us bad in the formal shoe. It is when we look at the larger picture that we know that the ability of the foot cannot be sacrificed for the whims of a toe. The sooner it is trimmed, the lesser is the agony endured; because much as we'd like, we cannot suit up in flip flops for life.
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