One sunny afternoon, I decided to take my toe ring for a road test. Strutting purposefully along a busy Manhattan thoroughfare, I deftly merged into the pedestrian parade wearing short skirt and purple suede open-toed, high-heeled sandals. A gender-modified version of Stayin’ Alive streamed through my head, “Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a toe-ringed woman, no time to talk”.
As I wove in and out of the crowd, I noticed that people began nudging their companions, smiling and pointing to my feet. Men winked, offered high fives and thumbs’ up. Jazzy! Aww right! Hot! Cool! Women stopped me. “Where did you get that? I want one!
Encouraged by the public’s interest, I suddenly found myself blinded by a radical revelation! I’ll make toe rings. I’ll sell them. I’ll get rich!
There was just one problem, how was I going to make toe rings with Gernot not around? Hmm, I pondered, and pondered, and then kapow! …. a jewelry casting company! Of course!
“I am so #$%#@&$$$$ brilliant “, I thought. Or should I say……..
Fast forward – a grimy, old factory building on New York’s Lower Eastside. I ring the rusty buzzer. It sounded static but I persisted until an elderly, heavily accented man, in a metallic dust-stained apron, opened the door. He eyed me suspiciously so I flashed him my toe ring in an attempt to demonstrate exactly why I was there.
“You vant vat?, he asked in strong Eastern European accent. For zuh feet? Vit a diamonds? Vitch toe? How you know zize? How I do zat? You zerious? I never heard zuch a crazy ting!”
Many weeks, and hundreds of dollars later, the first collection of silver toe rings was cast, polished and ready to pounce on unsuspecting New Yorkers.
