Everyone can have a perfect life on Facebook. Of course we can...if we only share the good stuff. And most of us do. Myself included. I get it. Can you imagine if we shared only our misfortunes? How depressing.
The last few years have been magical for me and there hasn’t been a lot to complain about. Sometimes people tell me that from the looks of my feed my life is seemingly peaches and cream. So I’ve decided to reveal something that I’m not stoked about, humbled by or proud of. It’s something I don’t talk about all that much. It has nothing to do with music and it’s not sexy or pretty:
Bunions. That’s right. I have them. And so did my mother. And my grandmother. And Layla (my daughter), will probably have them too, unless her tootsies take after her Daddy’s side of the family, (the Italians) rather than the Jews.
They’re awful—not the Italians—the bunions. Aside from being so unsightly, they throb. In the morning. Especially the one on the left. Luckily the pain subsides by my second cup of coffee.
In general, as long as my feet are horizontal, I’m ok. But any kind of heel elevation puts pressure on that bulbous area and it’s excruciating.
Surgery you say? I don’t think so. There have been other procedures I haven’t hesitated undergoing because they weren’t optional. Bunion surgery is. I’ve made peace with the alternative: a life limited to a shoe collection consisting of Uggs, flip flops, ballet flats and Crocs. I have accepted the fact that I’ll never be able to wear Jimmy Choos or Manolos (thank you very much Carry Bradshaw). And with that I can deal.
And yes, I said Crocs…for me they’re as divine as the gel manicure. Seriously, why on earth would one buy a stationary comfort kitchen mat when Crocs allow for padding under your feet no matter where you navigate…the fridge, the oven, the sink. Plus, look how thick those comfort mats are. Tripping is inevitable. (And who wears kitten heels when they cook?)
As for the BMI awards—that once a year music industry dinner—everyone’s in stilettos except for me. Being that the parking lot is across the street, I flip flop my way across Wilshire Blvd and discreetly swap them out for my party time Aerosoles as I enter the Beverly Hilton. These platforms are also an option as they are Gwen Stefani Rock-Chick-festive and they keep my feet relatively level.
Please don’t feel obliged to message me with names of other comfort shoe brands. Sofft, LifeStride, Clarks, Cobb Hill. I’ve sampled them all. I’m good. I have however, considered commissioning a shoe-maker-to-the-stars-with-bad-feet to make me a pair (or two) of custom fuck-me-pumps with extra wide width across the toe. I would pay through nose for those, so do feel free to refer me to a cobbler of your choice.
Once in a while I purchase some fantasy footwear hoping this time it will be different but it never is. It’s all good when I’m standing in front of the mirror but when I walk out the front door I'm limping again.
Don’t cry for me though…things could be so much worse. The good news is I definitely feel better for having shared some misery if just to lend contrast to my seemingly charmed life. But enough of that. Have I told you about my book? :)