Toenails are deeeeesgusting!!!

"How's your psyche doing?" Grandma asks. I sense a hidden question. I look inquiringly in response, should I answer? What am I walking into here? Then in the wake comes the real question; "Are you in the mood to trim my toenails?" My stomach lurches and I feel a little faint. My psyche screams noooooooooo! I am not, nor will I ever be in a toenail trimming mood! What kind of question is that?!? Can I get out of this? Excuses, excuses, damnit I need an excuse! My brain fails me and I acquiesce. "Where are the clippers?" The final words of a dying psyche.