Thursday, February 22, 2007
My feet - my burden
Dear Marc, following a week of hard work and no play, my boss told me to go get myself something nice at Liberty.
First off, I had lunch at the art cafe, in the company of an issue of Australian Gourmet and travel. We shared a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs and silky smooth salmon on toast. Plus the requisite pot of tea. Gourmet told me to finish off the meal with an terrifically tart lemon tart. I obliged.
Full and content with life, I wandered about Liberty. I started with shoes. Sadly, my feet have now spread so much that I can only wear trainers with orthopedic soles. I walked around the shoe department like a diabetic in a candy store, like a recovering alcoholic in a bar. What I want will hurt me. I can't buy shoes. I might have to shell out for surgery instead. I've read up on the surgery I might need. Post-operation recovery requires at least 6 weeks on crutches. I think they mean per foot.
How do people manage?
How will I manage with two kids while I'm on crutches. I'm sure you have nothing to say about this, but perhaps someone reading this has had a similar experience.
All the women on my mothers side of the family share my kind of troubled feet. My aunt swears by her MBT's. I'm curious, but not sure my current feet will fit in them.
To my great sorrow, I could not buy shoes. I went looking for the second item no privileged western woman can live without, the perfect cardigan. I found two and bought both that top one from KIND and a second one from Rützou.
I'm sharing the pictures here, cause this might be the first and last time they are seen without coffee spills, porridge stains and traces of mud. I have a dream, to be the kind of mom that stays elegant through play and meals. But I know I am not her.