It’s that time of the year again when we get our tootsies out, expose the old pasty feet and put on our sandals. I’m not one, usually, for wearing sandals, I’m normally dying in a pair of converse or trainers, but I decided to buy myself a pair of Birkenstocks. So comfy these sandals, hugging my feet in all the right places, helping the arches of my flat narrow feet strengthen whatever backbone it’s supposed to trick into helping my not that-great posture. But whilst it’s great that I’m freeing my feet and sorting out my posture, sandals, whatever the style comes with a price- the horrible, uncomfortable, painful blister. And I got two of them in one arch of my foot in one afternoon. I mean, what the actual f*ck?! Not only did it savage my foot like I had put it through a shredder, it also tore off my skin as my foot squished against the insole. Christ, the pain. Ok, not as horrifically painful as pushing a baby out, but still it was fudging sore and hurt even more so as I had to peel the rest of the skin off my foot, hanging on like a piece of thread on the sandal. It was an uncomfortable viewing, for me, staring down at my butchered foot but, thankfully, Emily was more interested in her jumperoo and Kate & NimNim to give one iota of shit as to what I was doing.
Anyone who has had a blister before will know it’s uncomfortable. Whether you walk in sandals, run daily, wear high heels or steel capped boots, blisters hurt and the worst thing you could do is cover it up, but if you’ve got to get somewhere, leaving the wound to air is rarely an option. Fast forward two weeks and although the skin has mostly healed, there is still a section that is raw, sore and red, but I have also in this time, on a few occasions, chosen to air my feet, just stupidly in my sandals. I’m definitely asking for another, what’s wrong with me?