Don’t Go To The Podiatrist With Dog Poop On Your Shoes…

I understand that when it comes to imparting wisdom (not intelligence) to my child, i really can only come up with very few things worthy of her remembering that she won’t figure out for herself and it be better that she figures out for herself. Other examples might be… “don’t use your hand as a hammer” (one of my personal faves and a difficult one to stick to), “if your new friend doesn’t smile and/or laugh alot, run away” and “people will only change when they want to change”. So yesterday, I had just tweeted (can’t believe the words have come forth from my keyboard) that I was going to the studio to throw some cups when I realized that I had forgotten all about my appointment with the podiatrist for my plantar fasciitis (haven’t been able to walk without pain since February). So I hurriedly took a shower and put on some clean socks. I have to wear the same shoes I always wear because they are the ones with the expensive orthotics in the soles. I got done with some time to spare and heard Sunglasses barking because Mom decided to mow the lawn with the electric lawnmower. I had put up a makeshift barricade to keep the dog from sniffing around near the bee hive because I didn’t want the guard bees to come after her. Mom says, “If I move the barricade will you mow near the hive?” I say…”sure”. I don’t help move the barricade because I’m trying not to get sweaty before I leave and by time it’s moved I’m in a hurry because I’m running a little late. So I take the lawnmower over to the aforementioned area to gingerly mow around the hive and voila, stepped in the new pup’s business which is in the vicinity. When I realize what I’ve done and instinctively yell out “shite!”, Sofia asks what happened and I said that I just stepped in the dog poop and have to go to the doctor’s. Now I’m not much for political correctness, which ear the earring is in, wearing clothes with logos on them, arcane rules of etiquette (my favorite one to ridicule here in KY is not wearing white or ecru colored pants after Labor Day and before Memorial Day), or which hairdo is in or out but I definitely believe in the basics… please, thank you, may I, nice to meet you, etc. That being said you can imagine how happy I was to have a tidbit of wisdom just appear from the ether and roll off my lips… you don’t go to the podiatrist with dog poop on your shoes! So at 51, I managed to add one more pearl to the three others it took my whole life to accrue. Nowhere in this talk of wisdom is an explanation as to how within a matter of months, this very curmudgeon took his new camera to the podiatrist’s office to take pics of the injections in his feet to give this little paragraph some visual validation. You gotta wonder…

You can probably imagine the look of suspicion when the doc asked “what’s the camera for?” and my reply… “I wanted to take a picture of the injection.” I guess I secretly was hoping that this conversation would be much longer where he asked what I would use them for and I would give him my blog address and he would be blown away by my pots and decide to take pottery in exchange for the money I owe him but he just dropped it and I thought I ought to quit while I was ahead. Before the doctor had gotten into the office I was thinking that the little 15 x 15 of a room I was sitting in was not too long ago a meadow or a stand of trees or a farm and not being a big fan of suburban sprawl tried to convince myself that if the sprawl hadn’t happened, I would be getting the very same treatment nearer to the city’s downtown. I was also trying to read the poster on the door with my camera’s zoom lens because I certainly couldn’t read it from where I was sitting and the chair was elevated so high that I really couldn’t get down with my bare feet without making my condition worse. I only include this picture because of the statement on the bottom of the poster… “Ask your doctor to examine your feet today.” I mean if you’re reading it, most likely you’re in the foot doctor’s office already… how’s he gonna get away without checking your feet? Not to mention, if your feet looked like the pictures on the poster (which reminded me of the David Sedaris story where he compared his mom’s toenails to the bits of doritos left in the bottom of the bag), it seems you would have had the inclination to have them looked at by someone already.