For the love of Feet

A story about my feet:

Once upon a time, my feet were my pride and joy. Despite any issues I might have had with my size, shape or current ‘do, my feet provided a hearty dose of self esteem.

In my youth (which I sadly still think I am in), I got compliments on my feet all the time. Their slender shape and tan finish attracted gawkers near and far.

“Are you the girl with the great feet?” they would ask me.

Seriously.

I would politely respond, “Take a look at it these bad boys!” … because I was a bit haughty and obnoxious in my heyday.

My fabulous feet kept up with me through summers lifeguarding on hot Arizona cool decks. My fabulous feet stayed true as I trekked through rugged terrain in Central America, although there was a lost toenail or two. And my fabulous feet lasted through college and all the self pedicures required to go a’ courting.

But sometime shortly after I got married, my feet began to fail me. My once smooth soles became callused and cracked. And no amount of lotion or care could revive them. A good pedicure* provided a short-term cure, but within days they would be as gnarly as ever.

I’ve bought lotions. I’ve bought creams. I’ve slept in socks lined with salve made for cracked horse teats. But my feet refuse to recover.

Last year, when I worked for a cosmetology school, I received an email asking for volunteers to be photographed for an upcoming textbook on nail care. Specifically, they were seeking individuals with nail problems, such as athlete’s foot, large calluses or other bizarre things involving pus that you don’t want to read about before or after eating.

I quickly whip up a response along the lines of, “My feet are so disgusting! My calluses have calluses! They are so dried, cracked and weathered that you may actually dry-heave when you see them. They will be perfect for your book.”

I then hit send, failing to notice that I was not just replying to the sender but to all recipients – meaning the entire company. All 100+ employees.

And that is the sad story of how my feet went from a somewhat-guarded secret to public knowledge.

And, for the record, my feet were nasty enough to meet their pictorial desires. Just in case you think I’m exaggerating.

Moral of the story: How the heck can I restore my feet to pristine condition?


*I have somewhat developed a conspiracy theory about pedicures since my feet began to decay around the time I had my first professional pedicure. Is it like Carmex? Do they temporarily improve your feet then destroy them so that you are forced to come back for more? Think about it.