Long Walks Home and Heels

Today was picture day and everybody knows that picture day is the devil’s spawn. Almost nobody EVER looks good in school pictures, especially after those pesky braces destroyed the chances of ever having a nice smile ever again. To this day, the braces I got on in 4th grade and off in 8th grade have taken my original smile and beaten it with a club.

And is it just me, or does skin just decide to break out like one or two days before picture day? It’s happened for me like three years in a row now or something.

The only positive thing about picture day is that I can have an excuse to dress up. Not everybody might like dressing up, but I do. I think it’s a chance for me to try out the nicer style options that are out there without looking overdressed on a regular day.

I already knew what I was going to wear that day and I decided that “What the heck. I’ll wear those cute sneaker wedges I got.” I think it’s fun to try to stand out with edgy fashion choices.

I really should have planned ahead.

I had my outfit planned a good three days before picture day. So when a club meeting for a new one came up, I decided to go on a whim and it in no way crossed my mind to change what I was going to wear. I figured that since my mom said that she could pick me up, it wouldn’t be a problem for my feet. (Usually I ride the bus home) Obviously, it wasn’t going to work out.

I can do fine with heels compared to other girls of my age. The entire day, my feet were absolutely fine. That was, until I decided to be stupid enough to walk home from school after the club meeting because my mom wouldn’t pick up any of my twenty phone calls.

I had way too much pride. I refused to succumb to the pain of wearing heels and walking barefooted like my comrades might. And so the thirty minute walk became a forty to fifty minute one. I didn’t acknowledge my poor feet. I kept chanting, in my head, “Beauty is pain. Beauty is pain. You’re almost there,” when I most certainly was not anywhere close.

I finally gave up on my pride when I was going to walk into my neighborhood. It was way too late to save my feet by then. The balls of my feet had blistered to the point that I hadn’t even noticed when another one had formed from the heels. I staggered home, masking the very obvious appearance of someone who had made a poor choice of shoe-wear and collapsed, yanking my socks off to examine the appearance of my blisters.

One was in the shape of a heart, the other in the shape of a lopsided maple leaf. Go Canada.

I soaked my feet in hot water (didn’t help much) and got a painful lovely foot massage forced on me by my mother. Gotta love that motherly love.

Yes I took pictures. One was shaped like a heart! You can’t blame me for thinking that it’s picture-worthy.

I’m not attaching the picture of my other foot. The maple leaf looked kind of nasty. Sorry if the appearance of my feet offends you.

Is it sad if I thought the heart-shaped blister was cool?

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I think I’m going to have trouble walking at school tomorrow.

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