So last week I wore sandals to work.
Ten years ago I never would have done this. My toenails were not something enough, my feet were not something else enough (or too much something), my sandals were not another something. Who knows.
But, laundry day came and went and went some more and it was sandals or .. I don’t know. Maybe snow boots.
And instead of agonizing over it, there was a shrug and ah well, I will wear sandals and whatever it is that is or isn’t something enough is just everyone else’s problem. At which point you think smugly to yourself about how wise and beyond all that you have become.
But then, later that afternoon, I was sitting in a coworkers very well-lit office, and I had my foot crossed up over my knee, and I looked down and it was just the right focal length and the right amount of light and … and ew. Dry skin, some cracking, all kind of whitish and terrible looking. So I put my foot back down on the ground where it belongs and looked at it again and … eh. Just a foot.
So I wonder .. just how much of this wise ‘I am no longer bothered by appearances’ is simply that my eyesight has slipped just enough to be kind about these fine details?
And yet .. I did wear sandals. The people who might care about such things said merely, ah, those older women who no longer care about such things. Nothing particularly bad happened.
Though I was very happy to come home and see that Joseph had already tackled the laundry. Because otherwise I would have had to.
Sandals. They do show the feet. I have had the same sensation when I look at my feet. Lotion. Need Lotion. And a nail file. Sadly, I do care less and less about it. I hope you still care enough to use lotion next time you wear sandals.