My 37 Year Old Foot

Above is a picture of my foot. Of all the parts of my body, my feet seem to have changed the least. Still the monkeylike spread my mother told me came from walking around barefoot all the time, and trying to pick things up with my toes. That, of course, was total bullshit, like most of the things she told me.

My mother had very dainty feet. Princess feet, painted and primmed and molded by years of trotting around in tapered toe high heels. Mine look pretty damn good, I think, for having trudged through thousands of hours of table waiting, bartending, and hiking around. I try to keep them tidy, heels scrubbed and dry skin removed, but I don't trip too hard on nail polish or shop for superfly slingbacks. My doggies are utilitarian. They work like hell, and enjoy a good strong massage now and then. And I can still pick things up off the floor with them.