I’m gonna need a pedicure.

I’m gonna need a pedicure. Sooner, rather than later.

Don’t be jealous. That blue baby is all mine. Yes, singular. What, you don’t own just one shoe? What can I say? I’m special.

So on Sunday I woke up with a pain in my foot, not to be confused with the pain in my behind, which is how I lovingly refer to my son and/or husband. It was uncomfortable to walk on, but I thought maybe it was simply stiff and needed a little waking up time.

The pain progressed until I decided yesterday that I should probably go to the hospital to get it checked out. I decided this after not being able to limp around my house and yard without muttering swear words under my breath. Nothing exacerbates pain quite like trying to entertain a 19 month old in 78 degree weather.

While there was no bruising and if I were to be honest, my foot was less swollen than it once was while pregnant, I knew I was in pain, and well, when you don’t yet have a primary care physician, the emergency room is the next best thing, right?

The official diagnosis? I am an alien. Oh wait, no that was Kase’s concern after I told him my lame diagnosis. I have a “boney spur” according to my kind doctor. Which is a nice way of saying I am a human teenage mutant ninja turtle. Apparently, I am growing a little bone spur where there shouldn’t be no bone. And it’s probably all up in some nerve’s space. And that is what is causing me to limp around the house and swear.

So now I am left to my own devices, wearing an ugly blue velcro shoe (Colin’s velcro shoes are much more adorable. They should work with the people at Converse or the Gap on these things. They could learn something) and making up bad foot jokes involving boney spurs. But at least I have some strong painkillers. And no, I’m not sharing. Get your own. That goes for the painkillers and the hot shoe.

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