Pain in my foot

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.