Yesterday, June 2nd happened to be that most auspicious occasion, Go Barefoot Day. Did I remember to take part? Of course I did. In my neck of the woods it's finally not winter and my feet couldn't wait to shuck socks and shoes to celebrate. They anticipate months of freedom. They look forward to wiggle room. Yesterday, I slid my bare feet into a pair of flip flops, or thongs as some know them. A five-year old cousin referred to them as 'plip plops', but I digress. I consider the word 'go' to be a directive and so I did just that. My bare feet and I ventured outside for a bit of sun and fresh air. We walked to the post office. No, no that is not accurate. What we did was more of a trudge, we were tired. For sure we did not skip. At some point, we dissolved into more of a limp and my bare feet dragged. Let me explain. On Go Barefoot Day Eve my feet and I jumped the queue. In reaction to the brilliant sunshine and balmy temperature, we began our observances a tad early. On Monday we visited our campsite with the honourable intention of picking up dead leaves. Feeling the allure of the enticing weather, we had chosen to toil in a pair of flip flops. Alas, my well-meaning bare feet and I had forgotten our propensity for mishaps. Intending to unlock a garden shed and retrieve a pair of rakes, we permitted ourselves to be distracted. We passed near the pick-up truck and decided on a whim to pull open the tail gate. This action revealed four newly-purchased metal c-clamps in the box that then had to be re-located. I grabbed them and without another glance we backed up and my bare feet stumbled into a wallow, or as I picture it, a sort of pot hole in the dirt. In a matter of seconds I face-planted on the ground. There was nothing pretty about my thud. Struggling to my stunned feet, I felt the bruises blossom and the aches complain. My right ankle sent distress signals of a sprain and my right big toe throbbed. Somehow, the flip flops had separated from my feet and the C-clamps had disappeared. Despite my tender ribs I chuckled. Unlike unlucky Wile Coyote, those pieces of metal flung into the air had not struck me while I was prone in the leaves. If I'm being truthful, I celebrate Barefoot Day most of the time. I eschew footwear in favour of freedom and comfort, but it comes at a price. A few years ago, two days post knee surgery, ( the first of four on my left leg with the third being a total knee replacement), I squished my right foot into a flip flop, rose from a chair and hobbled unsteadily forward in the add-a-room of my trailer. Without warning, my right big toe stubbed a particularly solid chair leg pitching me off balance. Swaying off-kilter, my right hip checked that immoveable piece of furniture and I bounced against the paneled wall. As I lost my battle to remain upright my right arm swung in a wide arc and crashed through a window. When I finally ceased striking objects, I caught my breath and surveyed the damage. My left knee remained swathed in a thick layer of gauze. I noticed that it hurt to inhale and my ribs sent sharp jabs up my right side. My right big toe throbbed and its nail had been bloodied and split up the center. My right arm ached and showed several inches of bloody scrapes. I even had an abrasion on my chin. It could've been worse. As I fell, my arm punched out the screen and not the glass window pane which had been drawn open. Had choosing to be barefoot caused this incident? I dunno. It was a moot point. I could not wear shoes in the aftermath. Bare feet and I share a history. Once I attempted to perform a simple manoeuver known to most as passing through a doorway. Huh, this happened at my trailer, too. The door had swung open without a hitch and I stepped forward expecting to be outside. To the family members sitting outdoors awaiting my imminent arrival, it appeared as if I'd been shot from some invisible cannon, or flung by some stealthy, malevolent force. I hurtled out that doorway and flew through the air. Landing on unprepared bare feet, I stumbled and crashed to the hard ground. As has occurred too many painful times, poor vulnerable toes were fractured, contusions and abrasions marked my skin, and I shook my head in amazement. What had transpired? Had I been pushed? All I can surmise is that as I stepped forward I trod on the back of a flip flop effectively braking my surprised feet and propelling me forward with the cold efficiency of physics and gravity. What intended to exit the trailer must still exit the trailer. My clueless toes have endured more than their fair share of breaks. Whomever coined the phrase "them's the breaks" must have been referring to my damaged digits. If anything at all could possibly cause them injury, my toes will find it. They are stubbers. How many people can claim to have fractured a big toe baking Christmas cookies? Has anyone else admitted to hurting their toes surfing the internet? Yes, I rolled over them while seated in my computer chair. I admit to fantasizing about docking, okay severing ,my toes from my feet. I cannot injure what isn't there, right? Horrified do-gooders insist upon informing me that my toes provide balance. Do they really? I certainly do not enjoy my mishaps, but I do like wearing flip flops. Barefoot footwear requires toes. I like to ambulate barefoot and shoes feel confining. It's a vicious cycle. Could there be sonar for my toes? If they sensed imminent danger, they could take offensive action. They need an early warning avoidance system. I still believe in Go Barefoot Day, I do. Fractures heal. Scars fade. Bruises are a consolation prize of sorts. They are pretty and they showcase all the colours of the rainbow. My newest ones are a lovely shade of violet that will morph into green and yellow soon. "The Bard's Hall Contest"  The beginning of my blogs for this contest! |
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