Today, I finally made the call to Dr. L., famed podiatrist. On Tuesday, the 21st, he will begin the process of bringing me to a wart-free existence. This professional help is something my friend Molly, who has had warty feet herself, has been urging for months. I was reluctant because of the nightmare which was my first wart treatment. You might not remember, but I do – it was ghastly and black and oozy, and really quite painful.

“I’m tryiiing the Dr. Scholl’s treatment,” I explain defensively, over and over again, trying not to think about the pedicures and public swimming pools I might be missing out on.

Molly purses her lips and shakes her head. “If you’re going to do anything on your own with this mess, you’re going to need to get in there with something sharp and just dig it out.” Then she squints her eyes and pantomimes a series of short, violent stabs.

Sadly, experience tells me that self-surgery is easier said than done, so I'm surrendering myself to Dr. L. Let's hope he can eradicate the colony because I'm really tired of those damn warts.