Quality time with the Commodore

"You want me to do what, Dad?"
Despite his beret tipped jauntily to the side the "Commodore" looked sheepish, "I need you to uh... cut my toenails."
I took a deep breath, "Yeah, okay."

I knew why he was asking me, the man is just a tick off eighty years old so suffice to say he is less flexible than he used to be plus, he is diabetic and cutting your toenails can be a very serious matter if your aim isn't just so.
I set him up on the recliner with a drink and some of his railroading magazines.
My grandmother passed away just after I turned 21 so it has been a while since I done any elderly pedicures but my memory was clear about what I was in for. I pulled off his socks and stared for a few minutes to assess the situation.
Initially it was exactly as I assumed, hard yellow nails growing far past their comfort level and beginning to twist like weird calcite daggers.

There was however a bizarre surprise.

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