These are my new shoes. I love shoes, as my dia-buddy pointed out on Sunday. I bought them for Saturday because I knew I needed to look good. Good in the sense that I was looking good without looking like you’re trying to look good. I’m sure most of you know what I’m talking about. Saturday consisted of making it to BC High to see P State tennis & Coach since they’re in my town for an afternoon. From there, trek to South Station to meet another friend before heading to Oktoberfest.
Before dia-buddy and I even got on the T, I could feel that these might not have been the smartest decision, but I tried to plan for that! I went shopping early in the week, I bought the little socks (they hurt with the shoes), and I wore them every single night in my apartment. And I still ended up with blisters. As I’m standing with my two most dependable friends, my feet were entirely out of my shoes, just resting on the top; with a warning of “please warn me if someone is about to bump into me.” When we walked somewhere, I kept my toes in the shoes, but my heels out, and I shuffled more than walked. People started to walk and I would remind them that all I could do was shuffle. The only thing I didn’t do was take the offer to get carried around the city. There was a good chunk of time where I was able to keep my shoes off, and even put neosporin on them. I did everything I thought of to prevent blisters, and yet I still have them. I have three on my left foot and two on my right. I had to go to Target today and buy lots of first-aid “stuff” in the hopes of getting better, and quickly, without getting infected. I have never been worried about things like this before because I’ve never had blisters this bad. These are bad though and I’m nervous. If I had to do it again, I might not wear the shoes, but the reality is, I probably would. I now must live with the consequences and pray that the pain and my gross-looking feet are the only negative consequences I must live through from this decision.