My Boyfriend’s Nasty Feet Are Going To Make Us Break Up

I know they’re just toenails, but it’s my boyfriend’s lack of self-care that’s the hidden issue here. Besides, they really are that bad—we’re talking genuine raptor claws here.

My cuddle buddy now has sharp weapons.

I love to snuggle in bed, on the sofa—anywhere it’s possible really. However, it’s very hard to enjoy an intimate moment when I’m constantly being scraped and stabbed by the weapons he’s grown on his toes. They are really sharp and have even been known to draw blood when they rake against my legs in bed! I’m so done. I don’t need a boyfriend that comes with a monthly tetanus shot.

Plus, they look disgusting.

Of course they do. Nobody can pull off the long toenail look. Not even hottie Jen Lawrence. At least he keeps his raptor claws clean, it could be worse! I just hope this bad habit doesn’t translate to his fingernails, that would just send me over the edge.

I’m all about feet maintenance.

I give myself a full at-home pedicure every month. Feet aren’t the nicest body part in general so I want mine to look as good as they possibly can. I scrape all the dead skin off, trim and shape my nails, and finish with a few coats of gel polish, French style. I do it religiously. Mostly for me, but also for him. I don’t want him to have to deal with my hard skin giving him unwanted exfoliation every time I want to be intimate. So why does he care so little? His feet are hairy with crusty bits on the bottom too. They look ready for picking up mice rather than tenderly brushing up against my leg.

It makes me feel like he doesn’t care about how he looks.

It’s a fine line between comfort and complacency. I’m worried he’s crossed over to the latter side since we’re in that part of our relationship where we can mostly live in sweats and eat copious amounts of disgustingly delicious junk food without fear of judgment. It’s still important to make an effort some of the time. Come on, dude, pull yourself together.

What’s weird is that he puts effort into other areas of his appearance.

It feels out of character as he takes pride in every other aspect of his appearance. He’s very particular about the clothes he wears, which hairdresser cuts his hair, and he even plucks his unibrow. It’s like he only cares what he looks like to other people and when he’s dressed. Once the clothes come off and it’s just me and him, the toenails and back hair are unleashed. Lucky me.

After a while, he just rips off the overhanging nails.

I do nag him about cutting his toenails pretty much constantly. He knows he needs to do it but somehow never finds the time. Last month he had a wakeup call when he actually put a hole in a brand new pair of socks. But instead of getting out the clippers, he decided the quickest removal method was just to rip them off. Now his nails are shorter (still pretty long by regular toenail standards, though) but are all ragged at the edges and even more dangerous than when they were just long.

He leaves his ripped-off nail bits on the floor!

His “effective” ripping technique also involves just leaving the dead ends all over the apartment. He never picks them up to put in the trash and he always seems to perform his grooming the day I’ve just vacuumed. I do all of the cleaning in the house, so it feels very disrespectful even though I know he doesn’t actually know I’ve spent two hours thoroughly cleaning that day.

It’s almost sandal season.

Yes, it’s still technically spring, but summer is just around the corner. If he plans on wearing flip-flops and being out with me in public, something has to change! Maybe knowing his tootsies will be out on show in the warmer weather will give him the kick up the butt he needs to get his toes in shape. It didn’t work last year, but I’m still keeping my fingers and neatly trimmed toenailed toes crossed.

I don’t understand why it doesn’t bother him!

 He doesn’t seem phased at all by his gross toenails, the holes in his socks or even the fact that he knows fine rightly that I hate them. He’s also a big fan of foot rubs and thinks nothing of asking me to massage his talons. I can’t help but think if it was the other way around, he wouldn’t go anywhere near my feet. Meanwhile, I’m still pulling out the massage oil and finding the inner strength to caress his. Maybe it’s time to give him a taste of his own medicine. If only I could bring myself to grow my own toenails to even half the length of his.

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