“I’ve only got eight toes,” he said casually.

The woman scrunched her eyebrows. “Really.”

“Yes. Anything interesting I should know about you?”

She sighed, glancing around the room. This party was the pits. “No, I don’t think so. Have you seen Evelyn around anywhere?”

“No. So there’s nothing interesting about you? Nothing at all?” he persisted. “Come on. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an RN.”

“Oh, you’re a nurse.”

“That’s right.” She sipped at her plastic cup of lousy punch and scanned the room again. She ought to leave, but what else was there to do? Sit home and paint her toenails? Which reminded her… “Eight, huh?”

“Eight what?”

“Didn’t you say you had eight toes?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I was already thinking about something else. Yep, eight toes.”

“Was it an accident?”

“No, I was born this way. How about you? Any freak of nature stories about you?”

She shrugged. “I can wiggle my ears. I think that’s the extent of it.”

“Let’s have a look.”

She set down her cup and pulled her hair back to reveal her ears. “See?”

“Ha! That’s great.” He grinned down at her. “Very cute.”

She blushed. Maybe the punch was stronger than she thought.

She didn’t blush when they found an empty bedroom half an hour later.

Afterward, he lay back on the bed and she flipped on the light to find her clothes. “Wait a minute, you have ten.”

“Hmmm?”

She reached out and grabbed his foot. “You lied to me. You have ten toes.”

He raised himself on his elbows. “No, that’s eight.”

“Ten,” she counted, laughing, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”

“You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken, I’m a nurse. I know these things!”

He shook his head. “Silly. The two big ones don’t count.”

Copyright 2005 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.
Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.