|Getting a bit tall to be walking stick substitutes now|
I have been stuck in poxy flat shoes for a year now and I am thoroughly peed off! I love, love, lurve shoes in every colour, every fashion, every style. My understairs shoe rack is brimming with dolly heels of every description and what am I wearing? poop purple ballet flats. butt ugly, boring shoes that emphasise the fact that I am a dwarf. Not happy!
For years, I struggled in the name of fashion. As long as I had both kids with me then I could use them as props, particularly on the stairs, one hooking me under the arm and the other accepting that his head is now a temporary walking stick. My Son has promised to invent me a proper walking stick...with extras. One day soon I will have a stick that doubles as a light-saber, complete with sound effects and a Yoda cloak to go with it. I cant wait!
|...and this is me in flat shoes!!!|
Next peeve - my figure. My exercise dvds are redundant. Jogging..as if! Dancing - nope, MC Hammer days are over. Walking? Sure - let me know when it stops raining long enough. So now I take the consultant's advice and do swimming. I was assured that the water would support my old bones and therefore be pain-free. LIAR With the first flippering of my feet, I popped my right knee out of lock and nearly drowned as I opened my mouth to scream and sucked in half the pool. Two weeks into my swim therapy, I stick to breaststroke arms and flailing Kermit legs. I'm determined to strengthen my naff knees, no matter what!
|Come on Son; only one more mile to go|
In the meantime, I'd like to say that I'm still all happy, perky and looking on the brightside but that's not true today. It was true yesterday and perhaps it will be true tomorrow, but today I am sulking. I'm in pain and feel as flat as my frumpy, poop, purple shoes. After another passion session which involved my fiancé picking up my pins for me, its fair to say that I'm as grouchy as Rhod Gilbert at a DFS final sales event.
So this is the opportunity my daughter took to amuse herself by offering to get me a mobility scooter, but not just any scooter, this one she plans to jazz up with flashing lights and a built in boombox. A mental picture pops into my melon of me, my scooter, lightsaber and Yoda cloak and I suppresse a smile as best I can. How am I supposed to wallow in my misery with kids that make me laugh all the flaming time? Honestly, how dare they!!