Sunday, June 19, 2016

Val Thevictorian Nearly Loses Feet to CROC! No Film at 11:00.

Okay. Not really.

Oh, the "no film at 11:00" part is true enough. But Val was not really in danger of losing her feet. Was that too sensational, that headline title? Never mind. I've got you now.

I have been having some foot trouble. That's right. FOOT trouble. But I am not going to make a visit to The Good Feet Store. Only one of us here at the homestead can afford THAT establishment. That's the guy who regularly takes us to Shackytown. I oughta blast that one-hit wonder and tell Hick to Lipps-Inc it during the tours at the grand opening of my proposed handbasket factory.

Yes. Foot trouble. And I am not going to visit a spa where fish eat the dead skin from my tootsies, nor coat my soles with Vicks Vaporub overnight as I sleep. Either would be cheaper than Hick's inserts from The Good Feet Store, though.

The most effort I've put into curing what ails my barkin' dogs so far is to apply a tiny bit of triple antibiotic ointment. I don't know that it will help, but surely it can't hurt. It's not that my feet ache. They feel fine. But they don't look normal. No pictures. Ain't nobody got a hankerin' to see FOOT pictures unless they're one of them there folks you say...really, really love feet.

My feet are spotted. That's right. Spotted. It started with the left foot. About two days ago, I noticed two spots. Red. Not bumpy. Not itchy. Perhaps a tiny bit rough on top. Kind of round, but mostly irregular. They were about the size of a Cheerio. I would not even have noticed if I didn't look at my feet when I took off my socks. The second day, I had four spots on the top of my left foot. About halfway from the end of my toes to the beginning of my ankle. Again, they were not painful or itchy. I figured maybe a little insect critter had got into my sock when I went out on the porch to play with Puppy Jack.

This morning, I noticed four corresponding spots on the top of my right foot. What. The. EFFFFFF? I called The Pony to look at them, even though I'm not sure I would have done the same for him. I hate feet, you know. As you also know, The Pony doesn't care about helping people. But he came running. Not that he was eager, but he was gaming, and wanted to spend as little time as necessary pretending he had empathy.

"Huh. Do you think something bit you when Jack was chewing on your Crocs?"

"I don't think so. It doesn't itch."

"Look. They're in the same place on each foot!"

"Oh. I hadn't noticed that. I hope it's not shingles or something. That's along the nerves, I think. They would be in the same place on each foot."

"I don't think that's it. Maybe it's from your shoes."

"Maybe. They did feel uncomfortable yesterday. Bring me one. No. It doesn't seem rough in there."

"Huh. I don't know..."

"Yeah. Me either. Oh, well. I'm going to put a little triple antibiotic ointment on there. Just in case. That might help those spots heal. I hope I didn't pick up ringworm from Jack. Not that he has it."

"I don't think it's ringworm. They're not round. But they ARE the same shape..."

"Oh, well. I'll give it a few days."

Let the record show that I also consulted Hick, who said, "I don't know. I'm not a doctor." Huh! After giving advice on everything else under the sun, and even telling me when I was on bed rest for a week while pregnant with The Pony, "I'm sure the doctor didn't mean by 'bed rest' that you couldn't stand up for a half hour a day to make supper and do the dishes." Yeah. He wasn't a doctor then, either, but it didn't stop him from giving an opinion. I went to put on socks and shoes (different ones this time) and go to town for my 44 oz Diet Coke. When I came back and made up my two bubba cups, one of ice water, and one of ice for adding to the Diet Coke through the day, I went down to my dark basement lair.

My dark basement lair has fallen into disrepair. Some of the tiles are cracked and broken. I have one of those clear chair mat thingies. The day before, The Pony moved it for me. Pulled it back out from under my corner desk to cover those broken tiles. "There. Does it roll better now?" It did. Funny thing, though. I run a little electric heater under my desk. Even though it may be 95 degrees outside, the lair has a bit of a chill. You may recall how I had trouble previously because my chair would not stay at the desk, but kept rolling back, and The Pony pointed out that the chair mat was warped from the heater. Now I didn't roll, because the mat was repositioned.

Let the record show that I began smelling a burnt odor. Let the record further show that The Pony lights a candle every afternoon, which may or may not have something to do with what people do in the NASCAR bathroom on the other side of my lair wall. I figured I was smelling the burnt-out match. But it continued. After I'd been down there a couple of hours, I told him

"Pony. I think I'm burning up this mat again. I think the heater is charring a new warp that's now sticking up in front of it."

"Huh. Maybe."

Indeed, there was an area that was a little bit brown. Just like the old warped area. Which, you may think, is neither here nor there. "Why is Val taking us down this rabbit trail when we were talking about her foot spots? I swear, I don't have time for all this filler when I drop by to read a post!"

Well, it just so happens that today when I sat down at my chair on my newly repositioned mat in my dark basement lair, I happened to look down and behold my red Crocs. With their little irregularly-shaped Croc-holes positioned right where those four spots occurred on each foot. The part of the foot that fit snugly in the Crocs, halfway between the end of the toes, and the ankles.

"Hey! Pony! I think I know what happened to my feet! I burned them with the electric heater through the holes in my Crocs!"

I might just take up doctoring, now that I'm retired.


  1. Take two aspirin and turn off the heater.

    1. Will you let Hick enroll in the Cranky Old Man School of Medicine?

  2. That heater had to go, it's acting as a heatlamp. Overcooked tootsies.

    1. And I thought it was just a warmer...

  3. well done you. i first thought your crocs were too tight but that's probably not even possible.

    1. Seeing as how this particular pair of red Crocs is at least five years old...not possible. In fact, they are so loose that I almost have to put that strap behind my heel to keep them on. However, I will stumble and fall before I resort to THAT! I gave Hick a pair of camouflage Crocs, and HE WEARS THEM WITH THE HEEL STRAP! The boys and I are horrified every time we see it.

  4. I hope it isn't shingles. Mrs. Chatterbox had them a few years back and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

    1. I think my mom had shingles once. Thank goodness, this morning I stood beside my Crocs with my bare feet, and The Pony agreed that the Croc-holes were indeed a template for my spots. Right down to the shape of each single spot.

      Not shingles.

  5. My cousin used to say this to anyone who made quip: "You make me funny"
    My dawgs have a "Z" shape that goes across the top of my foot, making my tan lines unique.

    1. The more I thought about it, I realized that I also go out on the porch every evening for Jack's supper, and sit on the pew, with the sun baking down at 95 degrees, right onto the tops of my Crocs, which encase my black-sock-clad feet.

      So it's not just the heater. My feet are double-baked. Much like sun tea, Val has whipped up a batch of sun feet.

  6. Yikes! And I thought it was hot in Arizona!

    1. Well, you know what they say...that's a DRY heat.

      Who knew that Missouri can bake your feet right out of your Crocs? I don't think we want to use that slogan for tourism.