My feet were close to perfect when I was newly born. Two near perfectly formed, cute, pink feet. It has been downhill since then.
Basketball accidents and a poorly executed Parkour move (an ill conceived jump down a flight of stairs) when I was a teenager resulted in weak ankles. Badly fitting shoes led to deformed toenails. I picked up a serious bunion on my right foot from a month of tramping and backpacking across Europe one summer. Scoliosis caused me to develop flat feet over time. A combination of more bad shoes and years of working in wet and dirty environments gave me calluses, thick and cracked soles and the occasional bout of Athelete’s foot (which is a strange ailment to have for a non-atheletic couch potato).
My poor abused feet was looking pretty bad of late. So bad in fact that my wife put her foot down and marched my resisting butt off to have a pedicure done at the local saloon. And so, the Lone Grey Squirrel slides further down the slippery slope towards metrosexuality …..pushed along by his wife. But to be honest, the experience was not as bad or as awkward as I had feared. It was actually quite pleasant and my feet hasn’t looked or felt so good in years. But the look on the pedicurist’s face when she was first confronted with my “50 years of abuse” feet was very entertaining. The poor thing……I left a big tip.