Every spring when I get out my sandals and slides I find I must re-endure the trial of getting my feet up to the standard of toughness required for summer shoes. The first time I venture out in sandals, large painful blisters appear. I must push through the pain, gradually adding in shoes with smaller and smaller straps. It’s like a conditioning regimen. Some people try to cope with the stress by applying lots of unsightly bandaids to their feet. Aside from looking ridiculous, I find this method merely prolongs the agony. I just try to remember to put Neosporin on the blisters so that I don’t catch gangrene and have to get my feet amputated. You know the old adage, “Blistered feet are better than no feet at all.”
Anyway, this weekend marked the start of my annual ritual. The weather was nice and my wonderful husband sweetly agreed to do errands with me so we could hang out and so I wouldn’t crash the car from being sleep deprived. After a whirlwind tour of the Fashion Mall, Castleton Square, Babies R Us, Walgreens, the Library, and Costco, I casually mentioned that it was good we were almost home because I had a blister.
“See?” I asked, pointing to the dime-sized blister on the side of my foot.
“Oh MAN!!!!!” Josh shouted, recoiling as if he had just fired a machine gun on full-automatic. “You’re going to have to go to church barefoot tomorrow!”
“No” I calmly contradicted, “I’ll be wearing these sandals again tomorrow. I need to get my feet tough so I can move on to smaller straps.”
“You’re nuts.” Josh said, shaking his head sadly.
“Only the strong survive, Honey.” I placidly replied. “Only the strong survive.”