The adventures of my left foot.

I love shoes. They can be cute, they can be hot, they can be excruciatingly painful, they can fix depressions of any calibre. Most importantly, they cover up feet- one of the most disgusting appendages which have the sole function of displaying beauteous footwear. And allowing us to walk, however that is an essentially useless skill for someone like me who sits and studies all day- although i do admit that feet act as an anchor of sorts and go some way to prevent me falling off my chair. But, the point is, feet are deplorable and if not for the need to wear sexy shoes, they could be completely abolished.

Feet can also cause a fair bit of grief, particularly to old or even middle aged people. Instead of enviable stilettos, they find their feet adorned with afflictions such as bunions, callouses and fallen arches; and an inability to walk in even the most diminutive of kitten heels. Even those who are not so old, find their feet covered in weeping blisters upon the removal of innocuous-looking, bow-embellished shoes.

Following the events that have plagued my left foot recently, I have no choice but to declare war on it. Which could present even more of a problem then first appears, as I have been described as having two left feet, and I might forget which one I have declared war on. Amazingly, I cannot impugn my prolonged wearing of damagingly high heels for my foot's apparent misbehaviour- although I do have a pair of cute orange heels with zips up the back to thank for the four blisters they bestowed upon Left Foot.

Left Foot first made its abhorrence towards me apparent yesterday afternoon. I was happily walking along when I tripped on a crack on the concrete and somehow landed on the road- and on Left Foot's ankle. As my mother laughed at me, I was forced to remove my cute pink shoe and pathetically limp to the car.
Several hours later, the weak pain had subsided. Mum decided to ask me, from the next room, whether or not my foot was okay.
"I think it's fine," I replied, before tripping over and landing in much the same way, on the same ankle. Thank you, Left Foot- I mean obviously this isn't the result of my own clumsiness, or anything.

But wait! That's not all! This morning, I managed to drop my hair straightener on Left Foot- clearly it was Left Foot's fault for getting in the way. Several minutes later, more harm came to Left Foot- this time I stubbed my toe on my door. Once again, demonstrably Left Foot's own fault for trying to go where the door was.

So that's it. It's war.
My first attack? The next time I leave the house, I'm wearing my new Paris Hilton shoes, no matter how much Left Foot screams in blisters of protest.