Podiatrists and Lucys

I have now been to the podiatrist three times and have one more scheduled appointment, because I guess I suddenly turned 75 over night?

Everyone else in the waiting room is seriously over 75 and has resorted to wearing orthopedic shoes. I’m not there yet, but my time to wear fashionable footwear may be running out. Between the tailor’s bunions and a beautiful ingrown toenail (AND a fever blister caused by the stress of said toenail), I am officially the world’s sexiest woman. My interview with People magazine is next week. Casey is beyond himself with pride.

Luckily before the procedure to remove my ingrown toenail (…are you still reading…that’s the second time I’ve mentioned an ingrown toenail (now third…)…I’m not judging, but someone probably is…), my doctor told me a very encouraging story. He made sure to tell me the tale after I had signed the consent forms. It started the same way my foot story starts — with an ingrown toenail. A man went to get one removed, and the doctor was getting his knives ready. He was just about to start the procedure when he fell on top of the man and accidentally stabbed him in the heart. As you can imagine, I couldn’t wait for my own toenail-excising adventure to begin.

My procedure had a happier ending (similar to Cinderella but more realistic, and I still can’t wear glass slippers or pointy shoes for awhile).

In other news, my mom and I visited Pennsylvania this weekend. You may remember my grand adventure from this visit last year. This year was tamer, because Janet’s first grandbaby now exists, and we all have to set good examples for her. Her name is Lucy, like my cat. Also like my cat, she likes to sleep on my while a dog sits nearby. It’s still unclear whether Emma named her Lucy after my cat or not. I asked, and she said she just liked the name, but, like I said, it’s still a little unclear.

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I’m sort of a magnet for small living things.

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