NEAT FEET

I really liked these latex dipped feet. They sort of look like superhero feet don't they?


Why "feet" today? Well I'll be off to the town to the left to see the foot doc today.
She is going to give me shots into the bottom of my heels. It's supposed to horribly sting. This I was told by a concerned friend who delighted in passing on such good news. Thanks. Now I'm really looking forward to the event.



My problem is plantar fasciitis feet . You don't really have to follow that link. It's boring.




These look like happier feet than mine.




I liked this because of the frog. It doesn't have a use other than to be cute.




Story time! Hey, no groaning. Once, when Ananda was small and very terrible... she pretended to be sick so that she could stay home from school. Ananda liked to stay up all night and worry about an education later... after she dozed in class, say. Her teacher had been getting crabby about this. But there had been a wonderful book that she just had to finish and it was dawn before the deed was done. So, she got "sick".



It was a well known fact that Ananda's mother slept in the afternoon for a couple of hours. So when Ananda looked out the den window and saw that Kevin was also playing hookie... it seemed natural that they should team up and do something fun.
Kevin was fun. He had no stops what-so-ever and you could get him to do the most amazingly stupid things. He sort of had the role of test pilot and poison taster combined. What sort of fun thing might Kevin be willing to do on a lovely warm afternoon?



As it turns out, he was into the idea of combat tag and I was really in luck because the Zimmerman brothers were both at home too. They were covered in chicken pox scabs, so it was okay for them to play. (One Zimmerman brother hit the other in the shoulder blade with a hammer. Forever left a perfect circle dent that you could get a quarter to stay in. How cool was that?)



Combat tag was something we made up... you know back when soap operas were the only thing on TV in the day time and video games, etc. did not exist. My neighborhood had boys. No girls my age. Most of our games included the word "combat" and we often played Combat, based on the television series by that name. Combat tag involved throwing moldy navel oranges at each other. They would fall off our trees and start to get green and fuzzy. They were juicy and had a sharp, tangy smell that made your eyes sting a bit. The game went on for close to three hours before I thought about the time. I was covered in green and orange goop.



Back then I could haul myself up the side of a six foot dog eared fence and stiffen my arms up while I swung my feet over. Just as I was making the leap, I paused, perched on the top. My mother was moving around in the kitchen. Shoot... that meant I'd have to sneak past the windows and climb the car port and go in through my second story closet window.



Resolved to do this, I began the drop into the tall grass below. This was the dog's restroom. You had to be careful in the tall grass here. I was searching for poo bombs when my feet made contact and something close to fire shot up from my left foot. When I tried to lift it to see what was stinging me, it wouldn't budge. I'd landed on a board with three nails in it, hidden by the tall grass. It took some time and a good deal of chanting "Fifth grade girls don't cry!" to get the grass to let go of the board. I could see the tip of two nails sticking out the top of my Red Ball Jet sneakers. Damn... so much for running faster and jumping higher!



I clomped my way, as if I had a ski on one foot, to the back door. There would be no way out of this pickle. I'd have to fess up and get help. My mother, who should have been canonized for her endurance of our schemes took one look at the situation and got busy. One foot on either side of mine and a quick jerk... my foot was freed. That's when I discovered that while fifth grade girls do not cry... they can run in place and make a shrill ear shattering noise.


My mother sighed and said she would start the car. Time for a tetanus shot. The one really great thing about my parents was that they believed in natural consequence. My dad laughed and said that I'd gotten "nailed" playing hookie... but that was punishment enough.

FOOT NOTE: Back from the foot doc. I seem to have friends who are pain weenies. It wasn't that bad. Sort of like the Novocaine shots that the dentist gives you. They follow the nerve (I assume) and zap it here and there. Now my feet tingle. No exercise walking for 3 to 5 days... back in two weeks to do the insert thing. I think I'm gonna have to take up weights for awhile. And so on.