Tales of a Foot Nudist

To anybody who happens to stumble across this site, let me just assure you that I don't normally post pictures of my own bumps, bruises and otherwise bodily damage on my site. To those who normally read this, I promise it's not a new thing. For the last week or so, family, friends and coworkers have seen me gimp around or heard about what I did to myself last Monday. I don't think I can quite express the extent. The picture below does a better job. This is a WEEK after it happened. I consider it a G photo and I've got a low tolerance for ick, but if you're the ultra squeamish type, just scroll on by real quick. The story of my stupidity continues below. Feel free to just skip the photo and laugh at me:

Kevin calls me a "foot nudist." I hate closed toed shoes. I'm much happier in flip flops or sandals. Ecstatic if I can go barefoot. Unfortuately, these do not qualify for "professional dress." This means that during the school year, I end up wearing heels a majority of the time. However, being on my feet from the time I arrive at 7am till the time I typically leave around 5pm does not make for happy feet. So, two weekends ago, I hit a shoe sale, looking for flats. And found 2 pairs. Whoopee! The following Monday, I wore a pair to work. I kid you not, from the time I got into my car to the time I got to my classroom less than 20 minutes later, the shoe had rubbed THROUGH both my nylons and my skin. I immediately put a bandaid on the back of my shoe. Didn't help. Put one on my foot. Didn't help. Put one on the back of the shoe AND my foot. Didn't help. No matter what I did, the bandaid wore off. It happened that on this day I wasn't able to make it home again until 6pm. By that time, I was in agony. And my heel was completely raw. The whole heel. Two giant open blisters had formed. This was bad enough, but I treated them and went to bed. The next morning, my ankle was swollen and I was limping. Because the blisters had rubbed open, dirt had invaded and I now had an infection. A week later, things are FINALLY looking better. Today I wore shoes with backs on them for the first time in a week, albeit with a thick layer of gauze taped to my heel. There will, I'm sure, be scarring from this one. But you know what? I still really love the shoes and I'm waiting for the day I can give them a second chance...though they definitely need to be stretched out.

This is not, by the way, the only scarring on my feet from a bad footwear experience. When Kev and I first started dating, he invited me to a formal event. We were freshman in college at the time, without a car. Not having any other way to get to the event (the line for taxis from the University to the site was backed up with an hour plus wait), we walked across the Key Bridge, caught the Metro, and then got off to the Metro and walked to the restaurant. All this with me in my cute little silver heels. After the restaurant, it was off to yet another location for several hours of dancing. By the end of that night, my feet were actually bleeding. Being broke college students, we attempted to hoof it back to the metro, where we would again get off at the bridge and have to walk back across the bridge to campus. It only took a few yards before I cried out for Kevin to stop and wailed, "I can't make it!" He graciously agreed to pay for a cab. He also bathed and cleaned up my feet that night. Definitely worth points in the "Marriage Material" book. I never wore those shoes again.

There's a lesson to be learned in all this, I think: Barefoot is better. If my feet are going to be cut and bleeding, I'd much rather they be cut and bleeding and FREE.

This professional footwear thing is just not for me.

So where can I get a job where flipflops or barefeet are acceptable year-round? Sign me up!