Pinky

Dear Mr. Pinky Toenail:

Are you kidding me?  Supposedly you serve a purpose, but I am perplexed by your minuscule existence upon my pinky toe.  

Are you offended by my neglect during clean-under-the-nail procedures?  Skipping you altogether causes no remorse on my part.  

Honestly, were you a mistake within the complexities of the human genome?  During copious clipping engagements you are left to your own ingenuity to later remain unsnagged upon my cashmere sock.

Do you feel that you are worthy of even the fumes that fill the room during a painting of your other piggie team members?  I think not, my friend, and I have taken to ignoring the 1/16th of a square inch that you occupy.

Consider yourself disowned, abandoned, warned, neglected, ignored.  You turn your petty little face arrogantly away from your fellow piggies totally ignoring the visual inspection of your conscientious tender.

I courageously hobble to stand and declare:

Expect nothing!

Unless.... you threaten, once again, to painfully abort yourself  from host piggy and embed yourself into the leg of that blasted high chair.