I used to try to hide them. I wore special clothes to shield my secret shame from the world. I made sure that they were never seen––to hide my self from ridicule, from judgement. But recently, I have come to embrace my imperfections, and be open about my body. I have come to accept, and even––dare I say––love my tiny toes.

They weren’t always so tiny. I guess when I was little they would have been perfectly proportionate, but it hasn’t been so for several years now. When I hit puberty, I started to grow quickly, as most boys should. But my toes decided not to grow with me.

They remained little nubs of flesh and bone. They have stayed about the size of dehydrated cocktail weenies. My toenails have not grown either––and I think my pinkie toenail has gotten even smaller.

When people would see them, they would laugh and say, “Oh my god, your toes are so tiny!” As if I had yet to realize this fact. Others would call them “baby toes,” or “nugget toes,” as if they were some new breed of phalanges.

All of this ridicule used to make me self conscious. I would never wear flip-flops, hardly ever go barefoot, and if I did wear revealing footwear, I would consciously try to not draw attention to my feet. I became accustomed to wearing sandals with long pants: awkward, but less revealing.

But this has changed. I have come to like my tiny toes. Some people like to think of them as gross, but I like to think of my nugget toes as unique. Admittedly gross, but unique.

And as I have come to embrace my foot phalanges, others have come to embrace them as well. Teasing has turned from hurtful to jocular, as I have joined in at poking a bit of fun at myself. And now, I can wear flip-flops, and go barefoot, and have people comment on my toes. Next time you see my toes, feel free to comment, I will take it gladly.

And you know what they say about guys with small toes, right? Because I sure as hell don’t know.