My toes have accompanied me on every step of my journey through life thus far: all 27, soon to be 28, years (birthday presents welcome). They were there when I lost my first tooth and when I sprouted my first boob; they squiggle in happiness when I fall in love and help me run the hell away when shit goes pear-shaped. I love my toes because they’re a part of my body. They bring great balance to my life and they look pretty when they’re dressed up in nail polish.

I now have a confession to make…

I got it all wrong. My toes, according to the toe/heritage correlation we have been examining this past week, are not Greek… they’re Roman. My second toe is NOT longer than my big toe as was revealed when I made my family take off their socks to determine their lineage. It is close…