WARNING: Amy, there are foot pictures in here!! I had to post a counterpoint to all the foot hating.
![Sweet Little Wrinkly Bath Toes]()
I love feet. I’m fascinated by the differences in people’s feet and the fact that I can already tell my daughter’s feet look just like my husband’s. Some feet are gross, gross, gross, but not mine nor my family’s.
Starting very young, I enjoyed foot rubs. I gave them to members of my family and sometimes they would return the favor. My dad preferred very firm hands; I would use pedicure tools like a foot file and lotion for my mom’s feet; my sister and I would exchange light foot rubs (more of a relaxing rhythm than actual rub) and my brother and I would read books and rub each other’s feet.
As I read that paragraph, I realize that we might look like a bunch of weirdos. But I’ll keep going…
I really like my own feet. Other than the few months of new motherhood, I’ve kept my nails neatly polished since age 14. When I was too pregnant to reach the toes, my wonderful husband applied the polish for me. My poor toes also showed the fact that I was a new mom…my polish was as ragged as I was! I like cute open-toed shoes and very high heels. Amy wonders how I deal with the pain. Easy: I’m an idiot.
![My poor, swollen, fat, pregnancy feet. But cute polish, am I right?!?]()
I wore size 7 or 7 ½ shoes. This was not a small-feet-are-dainty kind of thing; I just assumed my feet were done growing and, admittedly, I wanted to borrow my older sister’s shoes that were much cooler. Her feet are actually size 7 ½. When I was 23, I was professionally measured for steel-toed boots at work and found out I have one foot that’s size 8 and one that’s almost size 9! My poor feet had been shoved into shoes that were too small and I just thought that all shoes (even tennis shoes) were a bit uncomfortable. So now that I wear my actual size of 8 ½, I don’t flinch at a little foot pain. I can even dance in 3-inch heels (low boots are best for dancing- less chance of an ankle twist and no straps to cut into my toes).
I still really love to give foot rubs- even more than receiving them. I’ve found that few people understand how to give a foot rub. I’m one of them the few, and it’s very enjoyable to me. But don’t misunderstand: I love a good foot massage. I’ll even settle for putting my feet in my husband’s lap so he’ll rest his hand on them.
I haven’t had the luxury of time to have a pedicure in over 2 years but my toes are still freshly polished and groomed, even in the winter when nobody can see them. The pregnancy messed with my joints, so my feet have been cracking lately. I hope I’m not in for early fracture!!
Amy mentioned her foot memories that included plastic bags in her moon boots. I, too, suffered from Bread Bag Foot. I have to thank whatever crummy manufacturer made big, hot, clunky boots that weren’t even waterproof. My favorite shoe memory is of my wedding shoes, which I now wear as funky Mary Janes. I was in an airport during the beginning of this whole shoe-bomber nonsense and they x-rayed my shoes, then took them out in a search. Apparently they have metal plates in the sole and vamp, plus two metal rods in each heel! No wonder they’re so heavy.
I’m still searching for the Holy Grail of shoes: four-inch heels that feel like flats. Christian Louboutin can forget it- those things are torture devices. He even once referred to the fact that he didn’t care about anything but how the shoe looked. The famous Manolos and Jimmy Choos are a little better but are now not my first priority where money’s concerned.
So there you have it. I love my feet, and like to dress them like little dolls on the ends of my legs. Um, that sounds icky. Sorry.
