Crocs

They're trendy. My granddaughters wear them. I think Jacob even has them. I found a pair in the Footsmart catalog with the label Rx and a description for "challenged feet"--they don't rub, crowd, and do allow circulation, etc. --good for diabetics, etc. Well, of course, I thought they'd give my hammer toe room and give me good footing, so I ordered a pair. A little tentative, I didn't order the bright red but something called brown or some such--I don't remember. Maddie had been so pleased when I bought Sketchers--she had Sketchers, too, she told me. So I thought she'd really like it if her grandmother had Crocs.
Well, they came Friday, the ugliest, dullest color I've ever seen. And I could almost fit both my feet in one shoe! Melinda looked at them and said, "Well, they're not quite as cute as the silver Merrells you just bought!" Understatement! I couldn't wait to ship them back. Maybe medium in another color would do, but now I'm gun-shy.
I've been trying to take good care of my feet because there was a spell a couple of weeks ago when they hurt with every step I took--not good for tramping over the Scottish highlands. Jeannie told me she buys athletic shoes a half size larger--made a magic difference. And I bought shoes--Merrells and Dr. Scholls--with fabric tops, not leather. They have more give and don't put pressure on the hammer toe. My search for the perfect shoes has led me down some blind alleys, and there are shoes I've just bought that I'm going to have to sacrifice. But at this point comfort is the ONLY thing that matters.
I remember a podiatrist I once knew who said if you can keep the feet of the elderly comfortable, you can keep them functioning in society--and I can surely see how it's true. (No, I'm not elderly yet--that's a state of mind, not a function of age!) Surgery on my bunions or hammer toe? Nope. I've seen too many people with chronically painful feet after surgery.
I think with my two new pairs of shoes and a pair of my favorite Keds, I'm set for my trip.
Now if I could figure out the rest of my wardrobe . . . .