I’m going to put on my nude panty hose and go out for some early bird specials. Isn’t that what you do after spending the day at the podiatrist’s office? I have had a pain in my right foot for weeks. I tried to convince myself it was getting better. I don’t have time to go to the doctor. I am too busy being everyone else’s chauffeur. If my kid complains about a sore thumb I rush them to urgent care. Meanwhile, I am roaming around the house like a peri menopausal Kharis.
I found a podiatrist on Google. If people can find spouses online I can find a guy to fix my foot. The office was in a nice suburb. I felt like I stepped into an episode of Golden Girls. Each room was occupied by a silver haired beauty. At one point I heard what sounded like a saw. Perhaps Blanch was having a bunion chiseled off? Speaking of chiseling, I finally got caught up on The Real Housewives of Orange County. I cannot handle this new girl, Lydia. If you don’t watch the show this chick quacks like a duck and brags about how “well off” her family is. If her family was that wealthy she would pay someone to file down those giant teeth. #MR.ED
Anyway, I blocked out the sound of power tools. Then spotted this picture in the hallway:
I wasn’t going to let a creepy inspirational clown scare me away. I needed to figure out what the hell was wrong with my foot. The doctor was great. It didn’t phase him that I haven’t had a pedicure all winter. (Why bother when nobody, but me will see it? My husband doesn’t count. He could cut wood with his toenails.) A few X-rays and I got the dreaded diagnosis : tendinitis. The treatment was cortisone, ice, shoe inserts and rest. Rest? Now, that’s a good one. I have three kids.