Foot Day

[smokingboot]

Because I was not in the mood for shopping this summer, I dug out three pairs of my old sandals, two sets of wedgies and a gold strappy low-heel pair. I was delighted. No need to spend boring time doing boring shopping! Then I tried to wear them, and got blisters all over my feet, not once, but every time, with each pair. So that's why I put them away, long ago in yesteryore. I wasn't being sunnyday economical; they were destined for charity shops and I forgot. Now my feet look like Dexter Morgan is my chiropodist.

It's hard to make feet pretty, or maybe that's just my feet. I have always been a walker, and I like being barefoot; the result is that mine are hard and cracked on the heels with great splits across the soles that I barely feel on account of all that hard skin. So what I really need is one of those things where little fish nibble the skin off your feet; mine are probably the piscine equivalent of an all-you-can-eat buffet. But I don't trust any fish you can find in downtown Lewisham. Plus, I need a pedicure. And plasters. And shoes.

I need a foot day.

It's not easy to have a foot day when one doesn't want to go out on account of tan lines. Mine are so white and thick against really red skin I am just the generic Brit-on-holiday joke. My mother spoke of times when they used tea and/or iodine to 'paint in' the white bits. I might experiment with tea this morning. If tea works, foot day must happen.