By BRAD WOODGER
People who have a longer second toe than big toe (Morton’s Toe) have the potential to become werewolves. I’m not sure of the certainty of this potential realizing itself (I’d guess only 50 per cent of Morton Toe owners have actual issues with full moons), but I do know the potential exists because my girlfriend read it on the Internet. I think she also mentioned that Morton’s Toe was an indicator of royal blood and high intellect, but I choose to focus on the werewolf angle, being that it is she and not I who is the possessor of said special toe (and anyway, even if she were a really smart duchess, I think the all-over body hair might overshadow her other achievements).
Of course I wish my girlfriend no misfortune (though an occasional tussle with a sassy wolfwoman might be crazy fun). She is in fact a terrific person — caring, accepting, sensitive and gracious — in other words, an Aquarian. I, on the other hand, was misblessed with being born under a Libra moon, so I am indecisive, petty and spiteful. I know this to be true because my girlfriend read it online. Conversely, I understand that my blood type (A positive) indicates that I am thoughtful and good-hearted while my girlfriend has the rather unseemly and tawdry O negative slogging through her body. Yet despite our faults, we love each other and realize that we are indeed so lucky to possess the common sense and strength of native New Englanders. Not that there is anything wrong with the whimsical superfluousness of those from other parts.
Ultimately, we (my gal and I) are whom we choose to be, and will always avail ourselves of the liberty of selective definition. But we are no different from our fellow Islanders. Left relatively to ourselves on our displaced portion of the country, we are free to pick and choose from the positive side of the ledger when defining ourselves, leaving the less desirable adjectives for those across the pond (or up or down-Island).
However, we must remember that this rose-colored introspection works both ways. All of which is to illustrate the point that we are who we choose to be. So the next time an Edgartown gentleman scoffs at a West Tisbury lady’s leggings, he should assure himself that the lady is giggling all the way home in her 1989 Volvo at that funny man’s pink pants.
Gazette contributor Brad Woodger lives on Chappaquiddick.