Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

Meet My Feet

with 4 comments

Photo: Snotty’s ancestral roots–Orcs–by way of the feet, at least.

Of the many things I loathe about my body, the feet win, hands down. Yesterday I told the Esq that my feet are a hybrid between the slimy, undead feet of an Orc and the hairy, matted feet of Chewbacca. But why, you ask? Because they are.

Looking at them now, I can also thank these necessary items for the feet I have today: falling down, too-small shoes, three-inch heels, weak ankles, late-night knife-dropping, kicking things, wild animals, Old Navy flip-flops, dirty floors, and the absence of a good pedicure. I can still get a pedicure at work before my last day (this Saturday), but after that I’ll have to pay for it *pout* so who knows how often I’ll get them done. My Planet of the Apes appendages, my Sideshow Bob clownfeet; God, how I hate them.

Here’s the thing about feet: you can’t do shit about them. If you have the money for the re-constructive foot surgery–where they shave down the toe bones and reconstruct the skin on the feet (and toes) to make them look prettier or appear more even–then good for you; I will also assume that your judgment has been compromised and you should be stripped of your titles, wealth, and influence. No one should have re-constructive foot surgery just so they can fit into a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s. No one.

In an effort to make amends with my heinous, unnatural elephant feet, I now buy good shoes for them; I also implore the Esq to massage the hatefulness out of them, which sometimes works and, at other times, fails. I get a pedicure (or try) every 5-6 weeks, and put overpriced lotion on them when they seem dry or suicidal. I try. I hate those monkey toes and how they resemble a bruised banana, but I try.

One good thing: if I ever lose my hands in a debilitating accident, my feet will be able to take over without effort. I could probably play a Rachmaninoff concerto with these toes–or with enough yoga, I could probably teach myself the guitar, or the piccolo. I could cook, blog, and defend myself with these brown, fleshy waterskis; my feet might be ugly and totally unlovable, but they certainly are resourceful.


Written by sn0tteh

April 27, 2008 at 7:11 PM

Posted in Uncategorized

4 Responses

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  1. You never know, I might be willing to give you the occasional pedicure out of the kindness of my shrivelled, black heart.


    April 28, 2008 at 2:54 AM

  2. I think I’ve inherited my mother’s feet. But I got the dry dirty heel; sometimes it gets so dessicated that I think my heel might actually fall off. I use ‘happy horse hoof’ for it, an industrial moisturizer that – just for grins – I also apply to my file cabinet to see what sort of molecular alchemy it can effect there as well…


    April 28, 2008 at 4:44 AM

  3. OMG. That’s brilliant. What you need is a foot file and a lotion that contains jojoba oil; listen to the professional manicurist, she knows what she’s talking about.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    April 28, 2008 at 5:02 PM

  4. Good thing you don’t have hairy, Hobbit feet.


    April 28, 2008 at 8:29 PM

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