My mom sent me this email yesterday, for my birthday. It caused me to miss her, badly, and also to spend a solid twenty minutes ruminating on the singular unattractiveness of my toes.

Hi Sweetheart

Today, I woke up thinking about you and, as always, remembering this day as it happened 41 years ago.  It seems like yesterday that I was counting your toes twice because they were so long that I thought you had more than ten.  I love you and will be eternally grateful for the wonderful gift of you.

Happy, happy birthday.

xxxooo

Mom

This reminder about my prehensile toes unnerved me, and so I counted them again, just to make sure. Then I checked my numbers against Jasper’s feet, and was reassured: I only have ten toes. Jasper, however, seems to have twelve, and, apparently, Sasquatch DNA.

Which means, I suppose, that I will one day send a similar email to him:

It seems like yesterday that I was checking you for fur, because your feet were so gigantic that I figured you must carry the genetic code from a long lost family line of Sasquatches or Yeti.  I love you and will be eternally grateful for the wonderful gift of you. Please don’t feel badly about your feet.

Happy, happy birthday.

Love,

Mom

The family that worries about their feet together, stays together. Or something.