Frequent readers are familiar with my deep and abiding love for summer. I don’t knock it. Not under any circumstances. I don’t complain of the heat. Or the humidity. Or the bugs. Or sticking fast to furniture. In my eyes, it’s all wonderful. To criticize would amount to blasphemy.
There is, however, one teeny-weeny fly in the ointment*: feet. They’re everywhere these warm, sunny days, except tied up tight in a pair of shoes.
And they’re very unsightly. People, women especially, go to great lengths to make their feet more presentable and attractive for the summer months. ‘Tis the season for strappy sandals and flip-flops and open-toed heels, after all. So they polish and pumice and moisturize, they put on ankle bracelets and toe rings and tattoos; they get pedicures, for pete’s sake.
Surrender, Dorothy. No amount of nail polish will disguise the fact those things down there are feet. With toes. Shoot, if you look close enough, something I strongly advice against, you’ll find a variety of unsightly bumps and knobs and scaly crud, such as bunions, corns, calluses, blisters, assorted fungi, rashes, and hammer toes. Please, I’m begging you, put on some shoes. No one enjoys seeing that stuff.
Probably the most disturbing aspect of feet is their unnatural, pasty color. They’re a ghastly, bloodless white, with a glow like a mood ring. Or veal. I guess you have to feel kind of sorry for them. I mean, they rarely see the light of day or feel the wind in their toe hair; they just go where they’re told. Think about it, when’s the last time you let your feet run free?
We should let them out more and I would if they weren’t so homely. My second toes, for instance, are longer than my big toes. I will not showcase such weird defects in a pair of sensational, eye-catching sandals. People would point and laugh. I’d blush like a stoplight and flee. Even so, I appreciate my feet, they do a fine job of hauling me around — even when they’re hot and tired and yearning to breathe free.
Babies have adorable feet. Little kids do, too. People over the age of 35 don’t — unless they happen to spend their summer at a pool or a beach, as a lifeguard or surfer or beachcomber. Those folks have suntanned tootsies, the only kind that look good in flip-flops or strappy sandals or stark naked. The sun may cause wrinkles and premature aging and skin cancer, but it sure makes your feet look great.
copyright © 2016 the whirly girl
*Yes, this is a reblog from 2014, eons in Internet years. I apologize just the same. Sure, my shoulder is still banged up and painful, but that’s no excuse. Typing isn’t strenuous. Thinking, yes; typing, no.
On a positive note, the bruises have faded to a bilious yellow and eggplant purple. The staples and sutures came out on Wednesday, so I am 100% free of medical tools and devices and bandages. Except for the sling and, uh, pain medication. Yay!
Back soon — unless my hapless streak continues. Oy.