Shoes. Oh, the shoes

Leaving aside the problems of the world for a moment, let's focus on something important: me.

Here's the thing. I have delicate skin. Have you ever seen Hamish MacBeth?  If you have, I'm like Rory Campbell.  If you haven't... well, never mind.  My feet are especially sensitive, resulting in blisters every time I wear a new (or different) pair of shoes.  Factor in the fact that I'm a girl meaning I often wear new (or different) shoes, my feet often exhibit the results.

Determined to be kind to my poor feet this sandal season, I bought a pair of cute slip on flats, made my Dr. Scholl's.  He's the guy I turn to for healing and soothing products when other designer's shoes leave me hobbling. 

Yesterday was the inaugural bare foot day. I wore those new shoes for the first time, and it was the first day I didn't wear socks.

I have blisters on my right heel.  I limped home from work.

Hmph.

Is there irony in this situation, or just canny merchandising?

Does every woman experience the pain of accustoming her feet to the shoes of each successive season? Even shoes I've worn for the past three seasons cause discomfort the first few times I wear them again.  Do we all stuff the toe box with tissue, or pad our heels with blister pads?  Are we all grimacing on the inside as we mince blithely in shoes a half size too small because we'd never admit to wearing an 8? And just how exactly does one dislocate the hips in order for them to swing properly when in heels over an inch high?

Anyway. Today I am back in an old favourite pair of brown suede flats with fake lambswool interior, making my tender tootsies feel cossetted and consoled.

Tomorrow I'm going to be brave and tackle some flip flops, but I'm going to be smart and bring the bandaids.