My friends, let’s talk a little bit about irony, Alanis Morissette style. Prior to leaving for BlogHer, I had started to run again after taking a hiatus to give my shin splints a rest. But despite the break, I noticed that the pain was starting to come back. For those of you who haven’t had the singular pleasure of life with angry, inflamed tibias I will say for the record that shin splints are a b*tch. A crippling, soul-crushing b*tch that caused shooting fiery pain by the simple act of getting out of bed and walking, sorry limping, to the bathroom every morning which subsequently caused me to contemplate whether or not it might be worth it to just lay in bed and pee myself rather than endure the pain of walking 10 feet. (Dammit, I SO should have picked up one of those GoGirls at BlogHer.)
So like a sensible person, I didn’t run while in Chicago. After that stellar decision, I must have left all my sense in the hotel room safe with the crack I was smoking my valuables, because like an idiot, I brought cute shoes to wear to the conference. Not exactly uncomfortable shoes, but shoes that definitely valued their looks more than their personalities, the cheap hussies. We also stayed at a hotel a mile away from the actual conference. And there was walking at the conference (What?! Walking?! In a huge-ass hotel with conference rooms on five different floors? Nonsense!) And there was the schlepping of toddler and suitcases and carseat and stroller. And then there was pain. OH THE AGONY.
So yesterday I took a look around, found my missing smarts and saw a sports medicine doctor, who x-rayed me, lectured me, and sent me packing with a giant walking boot and firm instructions not to run or walk for exercise for two weeks. In a bitter twist of irony, your very own OneShoe has quite literally traded one single stiletto for this monstrosity.
(Can you IMAGINE what irony would look like if I had named my blog One Shirt Off? I might be in a body cast by now! On the other hand, OneShirtOff.com would probably be getting waaaay more hits, no?)
Also, do you know how hard it is to take a picture of your own calf at that angle? But I did it because I’m a martyr like that I love you all very much. Did I mention this thing makes me limp? And that while I wear it my right leg is three inches longer than my left? And that I sound like Quasimodo lurching through our house when I walk on our hardwood floors? And that the noise terrifies the cats and makes them run away and leave me alone? Oh, wait, that’s AWESOME! It will be the one object in our house NOT coated in a layer of fur. Did I mention that it’s 90 degrees outside and this boot is both black and hot and makes my foot ooze sweat? And that I can’t drive with it on? And that ow, it still hurts. Hold me. Please? Boy, aren’t you glad you stopped by to experience this radiant bundle of leprechauns, rainbows, and joy today!
So since The Boot is going to be with me for at least the next two weeks, I think I should name it. Husband dearest suggested “Italy” since Italy is shaped like a boot. As I see it, Italy has loads of carbs, great cheeses and wines, and hoards of gorgeous men waiting to woo me while I break their hearts and declare my love for another while pointing to my wedding ring at which point they collectively decide there’s no point to living. I’m pretty sure The Boot came with none of that swag. Fail. Alas, I turn to you internet. Whaddya think? Any clever names out there for my latest footwear?