I don’t even know the word. This evening I had dinner with a
European couple and I was talking about how I have no intent to live in the U.S. anytime
soon…if ever. Now that I am home, I have found a new concept drawing me back.
It’s something so simple, so mundane, so completely absurd that people take it
for granted every day.
When I lived in America , I was able to wear shoes.
I miss being able to wear shoes.
I feel like I’m eight months pregnant except for the
hormones, the crazy cravings and the visit from the Boob Fairy. My feet don’t
fit into any of my shoes anymore. I can only wear flip flops. I am wearing out
my flip flops.
When I squeeze my feet into a pair of ballet flats, a pair
of wedges or, God forbid, a pair of heels, I have to bring emergency backup:
Band-Aids and a spare set of flip flops.
My feet are swollen, my toes look like Tootsie Rolls and I
have blisters on three sides of my feet. This is not fair.
My toes hurt, my heels hurt, the sides of my feet where the
shoe edges hug hurt because the hug is more like a product from the Spanx line.
My feet are red and splotchy like a 13-year-old’s face except I don’t have
pimples – just the red marks underneath.
While I appreciate being able to wear tank tops and sun
dresses every day, the heat and humidity are not working well with my feet. I
have 22 pairs of shoes in two closets that barely see the light of day. Some of
them have never been out in the Singapore
sun. I know that feet swell during pregnancy but this is ridiculous. I’m not
even pregnant.
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