Feet on the Ground

I threatened to write abut my feet two weeks ago, so I should follow up on that threat.Like my hair and teeth, my feet have caused trouble over the years.

As a young person, I had high arches, narrow feet and bony heels. New shoes always rubbed my heels and sandshoes ( sneakers) always bothered me. In the good old days, they came without all the modern cushioning around the heels. By the time, those shoes were comfortable, they were too small for me.

I think I am one of the few women born without an NSC (new shoe chromosone)  because I have never been interested in footwear. Once when I was shoe shopping with my two daughters and displaying little enthusiasm for the task, one said to the other, ‘Maybe we were adopted.” She had a point. On the positive side, I don’t spend a lot of money on shoes.  A good pair lasts me until it falls apart.

The uniform at boarding school meant that I always had a pair of black lace ups, white laceups (ugh) and Roman sandals. My favourite shoes as a teen were a pair of dark green Mary Janes. The strap meant they stayed on my feet. Much to my chagrin, all  slipons simply slipped off.When I left school, I needed a new wardrobe. Among other things, I bought a grey pencil skirt and a pair of black shoes with heels. Now these were not high but they felt strangely high. I practised wearing this sophisticated outfit by walking up and down our front path much to the amusement of my parents who watched from the living room windows.

I have never liked wearing high heels. I understand they are sexy and make your legs look long but I have always had quite long legs and in my youth, they were well-shaped from walking up and down Wellington hills.  My problem is that I am unwilling to be uncomfortable for the sake of fashion and besides, I fall over too easily. Heels make it easier to topple. And my feet have tipped me over many times.

My right foot looks weird because I fell down some steps at Hampton Castle and the sprain was misdiagnosed. I had been waking on it for a week before I was told my ankle was broken not sprained. Add to that a case of plantar fasciitis and you get one misshapen foot. Anyone in health care who looks at it asks me what on earth I did to the poor appendage. I consider that in fact, it let me down in more ways than one.

Enough of feet. Surely I can find a more elevated topic to scribble about. I shall consider something of a higher nature for next week.