I really need to get my self-care on.
The thing that really tipped me off is that all these other women are gallivanting around with fresh pedicures and new sandals, and I’m over here shredding paper with my ignored-all-winter feet.
Not only that, but I have some real old lady problems starting to develop south of the ankle. I’m talking bunions, calluses and—God forbid—warts. I also noticed a rather pronounced pronation when I tried to wear fake Ugg boots, ended up seeing a podiatrist, and left with orthotics.
This morning I tried to take matters into my own hands and use a callous remover to shave a plantar wart off my foot. This wart has become my nemesis. It causes me serious stress, standing in the way of me and a glorious, new flip-flop debut with a nice pedicure.
So I decided to fix it. Only I went a little too far, and, well, let’s just say the result was a blood bath akin to the shower scene in Psycho. It seemed innocent enough, but this one, tiny area opened up and I thought God was punishing me with some sort of blood-plague for judging the other pretty-pedied women while all I can manage to pull off by the way of sandals are Keens and Birkenstocks. That’s fine for a while, but this hippie stuff can’t go on forever. Eventually, Momma’s gonna need a sexy heel without my Achilles heel—this damn wart—bringing me down.
I’ve been avoiding treating the wart because it seems like a lot of work. Per my doctor, I should brush this smelly compound solution on it every day and—wait for it—cover the whole thing with duct tape. All the time. Unless I’m in the shower.
Am I being punk’d? Duct tape? I can’t wear a sexy summer sandal if I’m going around looking like the Tin Man from the ankle down.
At least now, for some reason, decorative duct tape is a really big draw for girls’, ages 7—14, who like to spiff up their lockers, notebooks, backpacks, and other belongings. A quick search of my 7-year-old’s junk drawer yielded two different rolls of duct tape, which I aim to use in the coming days: a pink and black zebra print and the Minions from Despicable Me. These stylish finds have me happier than Pharrell Williams every time he turns on the radio.
I’m committed to working on this religiously until I hit the beach in roughly five weeks. If it doesn’t work, you can blame my podiatrist.
She’ll be the one confined to her office chair with Minion duct tape while Pharrell’s Happy plays on a continuous loop in the background.