Wednesday, March 04, 2015
In bootness and in health
So I woke up yesterday with the ball of my foot all hurty and swollen, and then I hobbled on it all day, because as it turns out you need the ball of your foot for many things like walking and standing and such.
I sent pictures of my normal foot and my swollen foot to Nick at work and he said it looked like I needed some sex and he'd help me with it when he got home.
I told him I was looking for constructive feedback and this was seeming very much like him not being super helpful when I wanted to warm my icy little feet on the warmest place on his body.
Upon actually seeing my foot, he suggested I had gout, and when I asked how one gets gout he said, "Lots of rich, fatty foods." And then he laughed really hard.
And then I said if I have gout and he does not there is no justice in the world. To which he said that sex cures gout as well.
I've been saying things like, "Hey there, bootie!" and "You might want to hobble upstairs and get changed before you get too tired." Not unkindly. More like descriptively. But Nick didn't take it well. So this is payback, I think.
Anyway, this morning I called Nick's podiatrist—you know, the one who recently gave him The Boot—and asked if they could please squeeze me in even though they'd never seen me before. They did and as it turns out; 1. The podiatrist is extremely interesting, 2. The foot, a replica of which I held in my hand, is kind of creepy, and 3. I have fractured one of the wee little bones under the ball of my foot.
So I said, "What does one do about this? I mean, beside The Dread Boot."
The answer? The Dread Boot.
We have the same boot now, my love and I. On the same foot. Just in vastly different sizes.
I'd told Nick that he was going to have to stop wearing his if I had to get one, and when I called him he once again laughed really hard.
And then he said he can't wait to clomp down the street together, hand in hand.