It's true. I'm embarrassed to let Pearl see my feet because I know what she is going to say to me. She is going to lecture me about my athletic endeavors and my insistence on wearing inappropriately cute party shoes for long stretches at a time. A few weeks ago I badly stubbed my right pinky toe during a night of debauchery. Days later I stubbed it again on one of the many baby gates that act as an obstacle course in my parents' house. Then I stubbed it on my sheets. (Didn't know that one was possible, now did you?) I have been regularly attending kickboxing, dance, sculpt, and something painful called Tabata Cardio. My right pinky toe now resembles a squashed sea slug that has been left to rot on a shadeless beach.
To compensate for my disfigured and dysfunctional toe, I think I started landing on my foot differently. This has lead to a sharp pain in my foot that screams, "Stress fractures!" to me, but what do I know? There's no visible bruising like the last time I had stress fractures in my feet, so perhaps it's not so serious.
To add insult to injury, I decided to wear the cutest, yet most ill-fitting hot pink pumps last Friday night. I was heading up to Hartford for the MML's birthday and I found a hot pink party dress in the basement. Obviously this meant that I needed to wear these adorable Bebe shoes with pink plumes with it. Only problem is that these shoes always rip up my feet (even when my feet aren't already abused), which is why I haven't worn them since high school. Trotting down Trumbull in those things was a seriously poor decision.
Today I broke out the nail clippers, nail scissors, and tweezers and dug out every ingrown nail I could find. My toenails are grossly misshapen, my blisters have callouses and my callouses have blisters, but I'm pretty confident that I will be able to attend kickboxing tomorrow night without toe pain. Now if only I could touch my toes...