Shoe-icide

My feet are killing me.

I just returned from work and even though I’m wearing flats I still feel like my toes and nails are screaming to get out of dodge.

It’s amazing what a bad inheritance does to your lifestyle.
Instead of being graced with my mother’s thin, narrow feet, I get stuck with my father’s “empanada style” lower extremities.

Having a messed-up base for my contexture in direct contact with the ground makes it almost impossible for me to walk charmingly as a model… not that I have the body (nor the feet for that matter) to achieve this, but as a woman, it’s a must have necessity to present yourself with grace while walking.

My husband knows not to push or criticize neither my posture nor my walking, however, he sometimes asks me to wear these uncomfortable high heels that destroy my feet beyond recognition.

No pedicure can sustain the amount of stress my nails endure daily, and sometimes I find myself polishing them several times a week to beautify them in a futile effort to make them look presentable.
The sole of my feet suffer as well, and sometimes I have to really be on top of them not to develop a second pair of shoes on them as well.

The only characteristic that my feet offer, which saves them from exile, is that the sizes of my toes are perfectly even between each other.
The longest one if my big toe, and the smallest one it’s my pinkie toe.
This feature is a rarity in female foots where sometimes the middle toe is the longest one… but my mother’s genes took a pity on me and at least, they grazed me with that attribute.

So here I am: feet over head in my couch, my husband looks at me from his peripheral vision and makes a smirk; I’m sure he’s laughing on the inside.. My feet, on the other hand, are full-on, completely careless, free as birds, laughing on the outside.

Good bye flats, hello socks!