As I have mentioned before, I am doing Physical Therapy for my big toe which is more or less locked into place after bunion surgery last year. The problem is that when I walk at a reasonably fast pace (I don't even try to jog or run) for a reasonably long distance, my toe doesn't flex upward on the push-off as it should so to compensate, my foot rolls to the outside leading to excruciating pain. So twice a week, I go to have my toe pushed and pulled in a variety of unnatural ways in an attempt to break up the scar tissue and make it "let go". I have complained about this process in the past, but upon further reflection have decided there are much worse things I could be doing with my time than have a couple of cute guys play with my feet.

So my therapists recommended that I go to a certain shoe store and get a pair of athletic shoes that are properly fitted and made to correct whatever problem my foot seems to be having. First, let me say that this particular store is in a shopping center that I prefer to avoid like the plague. It's full of high-end stores with snooty clerks and overpriced merchandise. (Example: when my friend was getting married several years ago, we went to one store over there to check out bridesmaids' dresses. I was about a size 12 at the time and I still got this response when I asked to try something on in my size: "Oh, we don't carry the larger sizes; they have to be special ordered." Needless to say, 8 years and more than a few pounds later, I don't bother to go near that store.) Anyway, the other thing that I hate about the shopping center is that it's ALWAYS crowded. And it's crowded with the stay-at-home moms whose kids are at school/pre-school/sitter's/Gymboree/Japanese lessons so they are free to park their oversize SUVs in too-small spaces and spend their husbands' inherited money at will. (I've found there are two kinds of SAHM's. The first is the kind I've just described whose husbands are doctors or lawyers or investment bankers or won the lottery of rich relatives and they don't work because a) they don't need to and 2) they're not expected to. Then there's the category into which I fall - the moms who found it difficult to balance full-time work and full-time motherhood and gave up the second income and squeak by on just enough money so they could focus their time and energy solely on family.)

Anyway, I gritted my teeth and made my way over to this store called The Athlete's Foot where I was greeted (?) by the store manager. The reason I put a question mark is because he was on the phone, loudly giving someone directions to the store but he did make eye contact and point me to a bench on which to sit. When he got off the phone, he asked what he could assist me with and I told him that my physical therapist had recommended I come in and had even spoken with the manager on my behalf. I even had a prescription slip of sorts with Luke's chicken scratch describing my toe problem and what I needed. Shoe Guy takes the slip and reads it, shaking his head and going "hmmmm". He then instructs me to remove my shoes and stand on one foot. Okay, those of you who know me are aware of my total lack of coordination and this was a HUGE challenge, so I stand there wobbling like a Jenga pile. Shoe Guy extends his hand for me to hold so I won't fall over. Those of you who know me also know I don't like to be touched, especially by people I don't know! (Going out in public during pregnancy when everyone feels the need to touch your protruding belly was less than a joy for me.) But I did need not to fall over like an idiot so I (again) gritted my teeth and took his hand. He then told me to stand on the other foot - great, more hand-holding - while he analyzed my feet. Then he had me walk back and forth the length of the store about a hundred times for more "analysis". He droned on and on about pronation and supination and what my arches were doing, blah, blah, blah. Next, he measured my feet and informed me that everyone wears the wrong size athletic shoe and that I should not freak out if he told me I needed a larger size than I was used to. Sure, fine, whatever. It turned out I need to wear a size 10. O...K.... I considered asking him if I should go next door to Great Outdoor Provision and try on some of the lovely kayaks they had out front. I didn't, however, and Shoe Guy goes into the stock room and returns with every shoe he has in a 10 that are made for my particular foot problem. There were probably 10 or 12 pairs of the ugliest f***ing shoes I've ever seen. I had to remind myself this was about comfort and not fashion. He then made me try on two different shoes and decide which one felt better. I then had to repeat that process about 10 more times until I had it narrowed down to three pairs that felt pretty good. Then I got to try on the complete pair of each which of course led to two pairs getting ruled out. I settled on a lovely (NOT) pair of Brooks that actually felt really good so I was pretty encouraged. I finally left 2 hours and $98 after I went in.

The bad news? After all that, I tried to do my 2-mile walk on the treadmill (can't scuff the shoes outside in case I need to return them) and I made it about 4/10 of a mile before I had to stop because my foot hurt so bad. Sonofab****. I'm going to take them in with me to PT today so I can at least see if I'm on the right track, but I guess I'll be returning to the Shoe Nazi to try on 12 more pairs of butt-ugly shoes. Can't wait.

UPDATE: The self-appointed foot god who does my PT said these shoes are probably the best I'm going to get. The good news is that there are some "modifications" he can make to improve things. Oh, and I didn't have the orthotics in when I tried them before (don't ask) so he told me to put them in and try again. Grover, Ollie and I went for a walk around the neighborhood this afternoon and besides being hot, it went okay. Less pain. So Foot God can make his modifications and we'll see what happens. I'll keep you posted on the continuing saga.

I just wrote this big long post and my login "timed out" and it erased it all. NOT COOL! Probably just as well - I was whining about being depressed and it wouldn't have been a very entertaining read. Actually, there was a part about the Shoe Nazi that I encountered yesterday that may have been amusing but you'll have to wait to hear about that later because I don't have any more time today!

This is really cool: Mike Commodore is going to shave his head to raise money for the Jimmy V Celebrity Junior Golf Classic. For those of you who don't follow hockey or the Carolina Hurricanes, Mike Commodore is a 'Canes defenseman known for his trademark carrot-top afro and bathrobe locker room attire.

The head-shaving will occur within 10 days of the end of the Hurricanes' season - which could be as early as tomorrow but hopefully will be mid-June when we bring home Lord Stanley's cup for a little beer & BBQ! The cool thing is that a friend of mine who volunteers faithfully for the Junior and regular Classics gets to participate, as do the top ten bidders for Mike C's hair on Ebay. Bids or pledges for $250 or more also get an entry in the raffle for a 2006 XL 883 Harley Davidson Roadster autographed by the Carolina Hurricanes team (pictures are in my gallery if you want to see). Or you can just buy raffle tickets... Either way, please consider making a donation. All proceeds benefit the V Foundation and are earmarked for pediatric cancer research.

I thank you and more importantly, the kids at Duke Children's Hospital thank you.

Small print on a TV ad for Lunesta (a prescription sleep aid):

"May cause drowsiness."

I watched Super Size Me the other night (yes, I know, I'm a little behind in my movie rentals). I knew that fast food was bad for you - hey, I'm not an idiot - but some of the information, not to mention the images, in that film was simply appalling. The DVD has a bonus feature where writer/director/producer/star Morgan Spurlock does an experiment to determine the shelf life of "real" french fries (i.e., from a sit-down restaurant), a "real" hamburger, a Big Mac, Filet O Fish, and McDonald's french fries. Everything got moldy and gross except for the fries. After 10 or 12 weeks, they looked fresh from the fryer. That's just not right. Then again, I could have saved Morgan the trouble of that experiment - I'm sure there are some month- or even year-old fries under my kids' seats in the van. By the end of the film, I was sufficiently grossed out so that I think our Happy Meal purchases will take a nosedive. I haven't been fond of McDonald's for a while now due to the nutritional value (or lack thereof) but I confess to succumbing to a Big Mac craving now and then. Maybe not anymore. I haven't broken this news to Grover and Ollie yet. I'm sure you'll be able to hear the screams of protest when I do.

Just for kicks, I went on the McDonald's website and perused their Corporate Responsibility Report issued August 5, 2004, (interestingly, it doesn't seem to have been updated since then) and it seems to be one big doublespeak denial of the aforementioned film.

P.S. While my patronage of the burger joints will most likely go from infrequent to almost never, watching this movie in no way affects my affinity for Taco Bell. In fact, I ate there for lunch today.