Mom To The Rescue!

I can’t believe it’s been 3 weeks since my last post!! Really I thought it was only 2 and that was bad enough, but 3?! I should be ashamed! And I am. While I have my reasons for the hiatus (as usual) I’ve decided to wait another week to share them with you. Don’t worry, its all good, in fact some of it is super EXCITING!! (EEEE!) In the mean time, I leave you in the very capable hands (and feet?) of MOM who has a refreshingly comical way of looking at potentially disappointing occurrences. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

For Sale: Medieval Torture Devices

A few days ago, I did something completely out of character for me. In my older age, I love comfort. Nothing makes me feel more comfortable than a pair of worn flip-flops. Why else would we live in Florida?

We have an EVENT coming up this weekend, which requires something a little more sophisticated than flip-flops; so, I went shopping for some sensible but somewhat attractive shoes. That’s when they caught my eye – the cutest pair of high-heeled sandals — and in MY size. I’m not too old to look tall and elegant, am I? Shakily, I tried them on. They were very good-looking on my pedicured feet. I felt a little pinch on the little toes, but nothing a bandaid or two won’t cure. With glee and a little guilt, I purchased my new high-heeled shoes.

The event is in a few days, so I donned my new shoes to break them in. After six seconds, I put bandaids on my pinkie toes. Ten seconds later, I slapped bandaids on the instep; a few steps later, bandaids on the heels. Now I have mummy feet dressed in cute little shoes. No problem. They just need to be worn awhile to stretch out.

I have no fear of heights. I have stood toe to glass in some of the world’s tallest buildings and looked straight down. I have flown in gliders, small planes, and helicopters. Nothing made me as dizzy as elevating my heels three inches. I walked into the kitchen, hanging on to the walls, with tiny steps and dizzy head. I felt motion sickness coming on, and reached for the Dramamine. By now, I was more determined than ever to BREAK these shoes in and get used to them.

Have you ever done laundry in high heels? Do you know that when you bend down from the added height, you have a lot farther to bend than normal? I held on to the dryer to keep from toppling over. I pulled laundry into the basket one-handed, dizzy-headed, and noticing a slight pain in the Achilles tendons of both legs.

When I straightened up, I saw that my hot-pink-tipped, pedicured toes were dead white. You’d think if they were dead, there would be no feeling. Oh, no! Each mincing step shot lightning bolts of pain into my poor, zombie toes. The pad of my foot spoke LOUDLY in protest. I ignored their accusatory complaints because I am determined to BREAK IN these blankety-blank cute little shoes!

From the kitchen to the bedroom to the living room – I straightened the house, did laundry, fixed breakfast, washed dishes, and finally – FINALLY – sat down at the computer for a much longer stay than I had planned. If I sit through the entire event we’re going to, I should be able to show off my cute little shoes with minimal anguish. Right?

Do you know that as your feet swell, the straps of fancy little sandals do NOT stretch to accommodate the swelling? Now I have FAT dead-looking feet sticking out of these cute little shoes.

I no longer want to break the shoes in before the event. I simply want to BREAK them. Take them off! Soak fat feet in a cold bath! Rip the bandages off and wait for relief, and wriggle my newly freed toes in comfy flip-flops.

Seriously, does anyone want to buy a barely-worn pair of medieval torture devices with cute little restraining straps and three-inch spikes? Size 7 ½ wide, they should fit just fine. Bwaahaaahaaahaaaahaaaaaa.

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