Day 19: Imperfect
Like most human beans, I have plenty o’ imperfections. But the worst offenders, in my opinion, are my feet.
(Just a heads up–if you don’t like feet, probably a good plan to stop reading now, mm-kay?)
From this height, they look perfectly fine. Normal with a side of cute painted toes. Nothing to see here, folks.
But wait. If you zoom in a bit, you’ll see there are some…um…issues.
Don’t let the pretty pink toenails distract you. My feet are all kinds of messed up. My podiatrist (that’s right, I have a podiatrist now, alas) says it’s mostly genetics. My parents have pretty regular feet, so not sure how I managed to win the messed-up foot lottery.
My feet are actually two different sizes–the left is a solid 6 1/2, the right is a solid 6. Buying shoes is an adventure.
My arches made me a superstar ballerina, because I could point my feet even slightly and they had a lovely arch to them. But in real life, they’re a pain. Literally. Apparently, only 7% of the population has arches like mine. Isn’t that special?
As an aside, in my next life, I’m going to be a shoemaker. I’m going to make orthotic shoes for people with messed-up feet that are so damn cute people with regular feet will be mad with jealousy.
The tailor’s bunion is a relatively new discovery. It’s a wacky little thing. When my podiatrist (sigh) showed me the x-ray of my feet, my jaw dropped. Bizarre is the only word.
I’m having foot surgery next month and she promised me a before and after x-ray. So y’all just stay tuned for that prize.
My feet are perfectly imperfect. The foot surgeries can only do so much to modify what God gave me. And I’m cool with that.
I mean, the pink toenails are pretty freakin’ cute, right? Totally.