Tuesday, April 27, 2004

You would never believe that my one year bloggerversary is approaching, and I am only now racking up enough entries that most people might produce in about a week. But yunno, its all about the quality.

So, I thought this was an opportune time to reveal a deep dark secret about myself. I have a big problem, yep, a big foot problem.

Phew, there, I have said it.

This genetic abnormality is the purely the fault of my father, who has like about a size 13 men’s foot. My younger brother is lucky enough to inherit this trait too, he has about a size 15 men’s foot. My younger sister takes after my Mum and has lovely size seven or eight feet. And then there is me with my size twelves. Ugh. This means that not only is it almost impossible to find shoes, but it is absolutely fucking impossible to find nice shoes. I have my one shoe shop in Melbourne that stocks half passable shoes, but you have to be lucky.

And then what can you do about big feet, short of chopping off your toes? I guess there is the ancient Chinese binding tradition, which I think they do from a young age and it completely cripples them, so that’s not really an option.

This was all brought home to me last night watching Sex and the city. Or is that Sex in the city? Anyway, whatever Carrie and her co-horts call it, they all have amazing shoes. I think one of her lines last night was something like “A girl has a right to her shoes” or something equally as ridiculous but it nearly made me cry. Cause although I’m sure I couldn’t actually walk in the Manalo’s Carrie runs around New York in, and I may also baulk at paying US$485 for shoes, and I didn’t actually like her shoes that much last night anyway, I’d at least like the option of buying some if I wanted to. Sniff.


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