Memo to God: Less Fingers, More Broken Pinkie Toes

So I was just on the subway and witnessed a woman with two children, one in a stroller, elbow her way through the closing doors into the subway car, and then have this exchange with her older (though still more or less a toddler) son:

Mom: (in angry/serious voice) "LISTEN. Do you remember when you put your finger in the elevator the first time, and then you lost your finger in the elevator the SECOND time?"

(pause)

Child: (no response)

Mom: "You don't want your fingers?"

Child: (extremely low) "No."

Mom: "Yeah? Well you better tell God that. You need your fingers."

I say to you, reader: Zuh?

This all came on the heels (ha) of the fact that I totally BROKE MY RIGHT PINKIE TOE while attempting to exit the subway at Hunter College. I never would have guessed the magnitude of the disastrous effect the incapacitated right pinkie toe would have on my ability to perform my various administrative dealings there. Somebody call Charles Darwin; it appears there is a 25 year-old biped that has not mastered the skill of walking, let alone in $2 flip-flops.

I better tell God I don't want my pinkie toe, or He'll smote it to spite my foot, or whatever.