I do not have a foot fetish. I do not have a shoe fetish. However, it has come to my attention lately just how much I owe my feet. On an ordinary day, I don’t give them much thought, but today I’m giving my feet, all feet, a shout-out. Just think about what your feet have done for you over the years. They always got you where you needed to be, allowed you to run to your children’s rescue, hiked you through the healing power of nature, radiated warmth in a cozy pair of slippers and, if you’re lucky, given you the bliss of a fine foot massage.
If your feet could talk, “We don’t get no respect. We deserve more than the torture you women put us through. We have to make bunions and corns and contorted toes to protect ourselves from the ravages of fashion.” Sadly, I wised up too late to avoid the warped toes that’ve made buying shoes such a nightmare 
My writing about feet started with this divine pair of new dance shoes. It’s really not the shoes that are divine, but the unusual discovery — for me — of shoes that actually fit. My excitement led to this shot, my very first selfie, because I feel so darned cute wearing them. 
I’d given up long ago trying to conform to women’s shoe fashion. All those beautiful feet skimming along the dance floor led me to spend way too many hours driving some shoe saleslady mad as she rifled through her back room for something — anything — that would fit my big, skinny ole feet. Rebuffing foot fashion, however, has its price. A closet full of Nikes, sandals, fur lined boots and clunky comfort shoes means never to reach what is so often associated with femininity. At some point I had to ask myself which was more important? Style or comfort. Or more accurately, the way my feet looked to others or the way they felt to me. 
My feet have always been a reliable barometer for my whole body. If my feet are cold, I feel cold all over. When they’re hot, all I can think of is kicking off my shoes. And when they hurt, well, nothing else matters. Basically, happy feet means happy me.
My story is long, as is my second toe, but did you know that feet actually have names? According to Wikipedia, my Morton’s Toe, or Greek Foot, was idolized in Greek sculpture. Oh, NOW I feel better. That elongated toe has meant a lifetime of ill-fitting shoes and a pathetic case of shoe shopping phobia. Nothing, absolutely nothing, fits right so why bother.
I’ve never regretted treating my feet to better fitting and feeling shoes, even it it meant spending a little more. I buy running shoes even though I don’t run because they’re comfortable. I’ve even bought shoes in the next size up so my toes have some extra wiggle room. 
Wait a minute, isn’t this Be Kind To Your Feet week?