If you have a foot fetish — please DON'T tell me if you do — these pics will do you no good.
Swollen ankle, an improvement since 9 a.m.; Broken toe.
This morning, I woke up in pain. The other foot.
Not only is my right foot still semi-out-of-commission — the doc said to stay off it for SIX TO EIGHT WEEKS — my left ankle is painfully swollen. Because…mosquitoes.
(At least Matthew and I won at bocce ball while mosquitoes feasted on my ankle, right? Right?!)
No shoes for me this week.
When I was a kid, I'd slather on sunscreen, douse myself in bug spray, and end up the most burnt and bitten kid at camp.
Personal record: 20 bites in one evening. And that was just my hands.
Now that I'm an adult, the bugs love me even more. And my body reacts in horrible, awful ways, often leaving me temporarily disfigured.
I think it's safe to say I have an allergy. (Last year, my arm looked broken. That's how much damage one mosquito bite did.)
Moral of the story: When I get stressed around buggy campfires, it's not because I'm a wimp, it's because I anticipate hating my life in the days to come. And bug spray might work for those of you who barely notice the little pests, but mosquitos aren't going to let a little Deet shower get in the way of going to town on my limbs. Through layers of clothing.
I'm not an (always) indoor cat by choice.
I think I'm ready to move to the Seychelles. (No mosquitos AND "tropical paradise" conditions. Sign me up. Oh, wait. There might be pirates.)
I will walk again. One day. Hopefully before it snows.
And maybe one day I'll even wear these again:
Married ladies with functional feet, do you ever wear your wedding shoes?