I walked out admiring my delicate feet. I know I sound a little vain when I say I have beautiful feet. But, really. I do! In my opinion, they are a perfect pair: long toes, healthy nails, with a lovely skin tone and vibrant with life.
I remember the first time I got a pedicure, and my feet glowed with the natural color of my skin, tan free and my nails sparkled with fresh polish, packaged in a pair of brown strappy footwear I felt absolutely sexy! Suddenly, the movie “Boomerang”, in which Eddie Murphy is attracted to women with beautiful feet, made sense.
This love affair with my feet, albeit odd, is a relatively strong and a rather new development. In fact, in the past the same pair have been cause for much agony.
When I was younger, I usually walked around bare foot enjoying the feel of the warm tropical earth beneath my feet. This, i suppose, did not go down well with the ‘Shoe gods’. Sharp stones, thorns and pretentious branches always made a bee line for my feet. Splinters found their way into the unassuming pair more often than I would like to remember. Finding a careless pushpin lying on the floor attach itself to my foot had become second nature to me. In fact, once in school, a block of wood nailed itself to my left foot.
You can see why my feet weren’t an asset! You could argue saying, they took me places and kept me mobile. But unfortunately, more often than not, I managed to trip over something: a loose tile, a rock, myself and fall grazing some part of my body.
My mother dreaded these falls, especially those that involved blood. A melodramatic six year old me would run around yelling, “Blood Is Bleeding!”, “Blood is Bleeding!” warning the adults and children around about the seriousness of the wound. Anticipating pain, baths that followed the ‘huge’ injury became a problem. I just didn’t want them. For the next few days, all my energy was spent in keeping people at bay.
“My hurt! My hurt!” I screamed if anyone came so much as a foot near me and therein the wound.
If I was not barefoot, I wore flip-flops and wandered around gardens in my house and school. I felt rather triumphant when the thorns and pins got stuck to the rubber soles instead of my body. But, I wasn’t free, even with the slippers. Apparently, metal and plants weren’t the only things my feet attracted. Red ants, big and little ones always climbed onto the pair, while I stopped to smell a fragrant Rose or Jasmine. There I was, again, screaming and jumping.
I have lost count of the number of times I have wound up standing in front of my mother with my feet the size of elephants and waiting for the routine of cold water and calamine lotion. After the crazy bite, I don’t remember what footwear I wore, as you can imagine, nothing in my shoe rack would fit the swollen foot.
Once a scorpion stung me, on a walk to my school pond. I made the saddest faces as I narrated the story. A drama queen since birth, I had learned how to invoke pity from the concerned family and friends.
One Sunday morning, when I was a little older, probably the fourth or fifth grade my parents took a chance on taking me with them on their routine morning walk. They decided to take the twenty minute drive to Marina Beach in Chennai, the city I then lived in. The boardwalk stretched for miles parallel to the ocean. It was a perfect place to take a walk, with just the right amount of grass and bushes lining the boardwalk that banked the sand. Nothing could go wrong here.
Unfortunately it did and nothing could have prepared them for what was to come.
I had worn new running shoes without laces called ‘slip-on-shoes’. I walked along with them on the sidewalk away from the sandy beach. Several people were by the sea at 6am: walkers, cricketers playing before the sun made being outdoors impossible, dog walkers, fisherman who lived along the sea, beggars and random people who came along to enjoy the fresh morning air.
I walked on in front of my parents and told them I was running onto the grass. They told me that I had to be careful and turn back in a bit if they had not yet caught up. I wandered along on my own and over tiny dunes of soil and grass as I watched fruit sellers sell their power breakfast in baskets and a group of older men who were laughing loudly as part of their workout routine. The cool mist in the air was intoxicating.
It was on a grassy mound, beside a patch of thick green bushes, early in the morning, that it happened!
My foot had done it again. Squish! I felt it under my shoe and instantaneously I sensed the warmth of it around my ankles. My feet were in a mound of shit! A mound Of Poop!
Hoping it was animal poop, i looked down. But, nope – no luck there! I had found myself standing bang in the middle of freshly excreted human feces.
“Y- U – C- K!!!”
“Oh No! Oh No! Oh No!!!!”
I could see my parents in the distance, on the boardwalk, unsuspecting! Walking! I knew the routine, having stepped on sputum and dog poop in the past. Rub the gross off my shoe. Rub the sole of my shoe in the grass. But now it was on my skin. What then? How was I to get it off and erase the sensation from my mind?
Screaming I ran to my parents. They decided they were never going to bring me out again. ‘EVER AGAIN’!!!
I survived that.
If you were wondering weather this still happens to me? I can happily say, Nope! No more! I am now an owner of two beautiful feet. I happily take them out and flaunt them!
P.S: My husband, on the other hand is not as pleased as I am. Apparently, marriage has transferred my bad juju to him. Now, he is drawn to all the splinters, nails, dog poop and unfortunately even human feces, that were previously attracted to my feet.
On Feet 🙂
- Wear Foot ware.
- Hope you are not jinxed with my bad juju!!