Random July 4th Musings
I'm sitting here nursing my foot, which has inflicted itself with something called plantar fasciitis. The connective tissue from the ball of the foot to the heel becomes inflamed, or something like that, due to bad shoes and bad posture and foot abuse. Just imagine that every time you step down on your heel, a railroad spike goes through it.
My husband helped me hobble through WalMart last night to get shoes with proper arch support, and insoles that are specially designed to support and baby your heel and make you pretend that it still doesn't hurt like...like a railroad spike is going through it. But I am armed with the right footwear, exercises to limber my calf muscles, packages of frozen peas to ice the foot three times a day, and a remote control that goes all the way to 11 so my family can still hear the t.v. while I scream when applying said frosty veggies. Did I get this advice from my doctor? Of course not. From HeelPain.com. As Missie says, "I'm not a doctor, but I play one on the internet." C'mon. Like I'm gonna pay that much money for my doc to tell me the same thing? But the best part- I get to lounge in the recliner with the remote in my hand. HEE HEE!
Television time has been interesting. I've been able to indulge in my guilty pleasure show, Dog the Bounty Hunter. Who can resist a former biker with big hair, a big chest and a bad attitude taking down bad guys? And that's just his wife, y'all. I made my kids sit through the original Jaws, which they agreed was waaaaay better than Jaws 4, The Revenge. They made me sit through a Disney sitcom called The Suite Life of Zach and Cody. Mindless, inane, and badly acted cannot begin to describe it, but there are no commercials I have to explain with a biology textbook. "Mom? What's a four-hour erection?"
Speaking of commercials, I've felt very superior when the fitness club gyraters come on. I can't get out of the recliner, honey. Bad foot! HA! Of course, then the dieters who finally feel sexy taunt me. Bad feet need a pint of Blue Bell Lemon Ice Box Pie Ice Cream, hmmm? YES. THEY DO. SHUT UP AND GO KISS YOUR MIRROR SOME MORE.
But the best commercial by far, and if I could find a picture or a link I'd show it, is the Dairy Queen Moolatte ad. A normal nebbish guy walks in his house to find his wife in a romance clinch cover pose with a John de Salvo wannabe. He doesn't like it, she tells him not to be a baby. "But there's a half-naked man in my living room holding my wife and his hair's blowing in the wind!"
"Would it make you feel better if his hair wasn't blowing in the wind?"
I do have to work tomorrow in my new shoes and insoles, but we should be able to see fireworks from our front yard. For those celebrating, stay safe, have a good time, and put your feet up.
My husband helped me hobble through WalMart last night to get shoes with proper arch support, and insoles that are specially designed to support and baby your heel and make you pretend that it still doesn't hurt like...like a railroad spike is going through it. But I am armed with the right footwear, exercises to limber my calf muscles, packages of frozen peas to ice the foot three times a day, and a remote control that goes all the way to 11 so my family can still hear the t.v. while I scream when applying said frosty veggies. Did I get this advice from my doctor? Of course not. From HeelPain.com. As Missie says, "I'm not a doctor, but I play one on the internet." C'mon. Like I'm gonna pay that much money for my doc to tell me the same thing? But the best part- I get to lounge in the recliner with the remote in my hand. HEE HEE!
Television time has been interesting. I've been able to indulge in my guilty pleasure show, Dog the Bounty Hunter. Who can resist a former biker with big hair, a big chest and a bad attitude taking down bad guys? And that's just his wife, y'all. I made my kids sit through the original Jaws, which they agreed was waaaaay better than Jaws 4, The Revenge. They made me sit through a Disney sitcom called The Suite Life of Zach and Cody. Mindless, inane, and badly acted cannot begin to describe it, but there are no commercials I have to explain with a biology textbook. "Mom? What's a four-hour erection?"
Speaking of commercials, I've felt very superior when the fitness club gyraters come on. I can't get out of the recliner, honey. Bad foot! HA! Of course, then the dieters who finally feel sexy taunt me. Bad feet need a pint of Blue Bell Lemon Ice Box Pie Ice Cream, hmmm? YES. THEY DO. SHUT UP AND GO KISS YOUR MIRROR SOME MORE.
But the best commercial by far, and if I could find a picture or a link I'd show it, is the Dairy Queen Moolatte ad. A normal nebbish guy walks in his house to find his wife in a romance clinch cover pose with a John de Salvo wannabe. He doesn't like it, she tells him not to be a baby. "But there's a half-naked man in my living room holding my wife and his hair's blowing in the wind!"
"Would it make you feel better if his hair wasn't blowing in the wind?"
I do have to work tomorrow in my new shoes and insoles, but we should be able to see fireworks from our front yard. For those celebrating, stay safe, have a good time, and put your feet up.
posted by Robyn | 5:33 PM
4 Comments:
Sorry about your foot, Robyn.
July 4 is one of those celebrations which remind me of Norman Rockwell's Four Freedoms.
Ugh. I totally have that plantar crap and railroad spike to the heel is the perfect description.
I have the railroad spike through my eyeball when I am subjected to the Teletubbies and Calliou, both on PBS kids, thanks to Alison. But it keeps her quiet, so I will take the spike.
I suffered with heel spurs several years ago. The one thing I found makes all the difference in the world is to stretch my feet BEFORE I get out of bed in the morning. I do at least 20 large circles with my toes. It might not make a difference until your flare-up calms down, but I swear that's why I don't hobble or have to wear inserts any more.
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