Raw Feet

Today is my second-last day at my internship. To celebrate my leaving, the editors are taking me out to lunch. Hurrah! I wore my cute black skirt with a light, summery white top for this wretched 95 degree smarmy day and decided to wear cute shoes instead of rubber flip-flops. I felt so classy, walking to the bus stop and trekking along 5th Avenue...until I realized the cute little strappy straps were digging gouges into my foot flesh.

It took me a half hour to walk from the post office to my office on Craig Street four blocks away. Each step sent knives of pain through my now-bleeding feet and, to top it all off, I kept falling out of the shoes because I was walking weird to try and ease the pain. People were staring!!!! And not because I looked dashing with my updo and classy business casual clothes. Because I was staggering down the street moaning and pumping my arms to propel me along.

All I wanted to do was leave a lasting impression of me as a together, professional diva in addition to being a top-notch writer. Instead, I hobbled out of the elevator almost crying and rushed to the medicine chest to slap four Band-Aid brand bandages on each foot. And since everyone was in the fridge room getting cream, I told them all about it. So now they know.

Alas, try as I might to seem calm and collected, I am always that girl things happen to...strange things involving crazy people and stalkers and toothless rednecks. If only my desk would collapse again this week, I could be the intern who broke all the computers and furniture instead of the girl who can't walk in fancy shoes.