It is sad, but it is true: I have two differently sized feet. Now I know what you must be thinking, ew, gross! But I have feelings, and size 9 and 10 feet, respectively. Oftentimes, I find myself feeling glum about my particular predicament. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I am lucky not to have a more visible ‘predicament.’ Afterall, people rarely notice my feeties, thus allowing me to blend in with my normal-footed compatriots.
However, I love shoes. And buying shoes presents numerous problems for me. I must try on two different pairs of shoes and decide with which size to go: the smaller one that will inevitably leave me blistered and bleary-eyed OR the bigger one, which will incur additional cost as I get an additional insole placed within the shoe itself, thereby decreasing the shoe's size. But there are times, when I’ve had to purchase 2 different-sized pairs of the same shoe. I’ve been told that over 60% of the American population has mismatched feet. I’ve been told that I am relatively normal. But heck, I sure don’t feel normal when I buy two different pairs of shoes.
Though, I must admit, it’s not the shoe-purchasing pickle that really gets to me, but rather the irritating clumsiness incurred from an off-kilter center of balance. I trip a lot. Upstairs, downstairs, on moderately inclined hills, but mostly, on absolutely flat surfaces. I fall, and it hurts.
My feet have rarely impeded me from living a quasi-pleasant existence — other than ruining my dreams of NBA superstardom — however, there are days when I wish I were less unbalanced, if only to avoid the expenses garnered from numerous arnica cream purchases.
