Feet-Funny CW at the Scene of the Kreme

The Campagne Ladyship Safty-Pin shearling Versace's, made especially for her saint-heavenly street-virgin feet. She will be wearing them up to Met Police scene of the kreme, where she will be taking them off to barefoot-read the place and profile the kreme.

Mate, I'm afraid you're definitely feet-funny. Because of your shy foot-skin. Can it be because you're walking the streets progressively less with time? Becoming more the Princes and the Pea? Human body being a part of nature, is intelligent, which includes being economical. It does not maintain structures, organisms, particles it finds unnecessary to maintain. Thick, unsensitve foot-skin, if you are not walking the streets, might turn out to be a rather futile organ. Beautiful as it is, vain is the last thing we can say about nature.

Yet, our choice of shoes shouldn't need any explanation. Luckily, women no longer have to explain why one day they are wearing a dress and the next day shorts. 

As well as to the Hyperpronation, now this is a word. It sounds like a political statement and might be the name of a new  obviously populist, party Hyper Pro Nation like Giga Mega for the People. 

I guess here is the place to open a bracket and say that because I enjoy reading you, I tend to prolong the experience of "being in your company" by searching in the dictionary the words I don't know and google the names of people or places mentioned - which I only do with reads I like - turning them from "page turners" to "page stickers", because I like to stick to them. 

Thus, HYPER-PRO-NATION was today's  discovery. I have it too. The worst symptom in my case being horrid bunions. Sometimes my bunions are in such a state that once a friend said "I have the feeling that your bunions are looking at me". When my painter Spanish cousin saw my bare feet for the first time, he asked to: first  touch them; second, take a picture of them; three, have a long discussion about them and what went wrong in my life, so that I end up with feet like that. I'm not sure whether I told him the short version of the answer "Communism".

Of my behalf, I initially loved my bunions, when they came around at the precocious age of eleven as a secondary effect of wearing wooden Soviet points - the general effect obviously being... well, dancing on points. I don't know about now and about points of other make, but Soviet points, lovely satin pink as they were, were literally small wooden feet-coffins. It's only that the satin was from the outside, not from the inside. Yet, there was nothing more proud than having your points ordered for you from Moscow by your ballet-teacher, and you end up loving them with everything they bring to you - bunions included. Nothing could stop me from loving my bunions; not even Edi Murphy's Cop of Beverly Hills character who while in bed* with a pretty woman, so she had bunions and had to discard  her... I thought he's simply missing the fact that she's got them while ballet-dancing and there is nothing wrong with that. **

Thus, HYPER-PRO-NATION was today's  discovery. I have it too. The worst symptom in my case being horrid bunions. Sometimes my bunions are in such a state that once a friend said "I have the feeling that your bunions are looking at me". When my painter Spanish cousin saw my bare feet for the first time, he asked to: first  touch them; second, take a picture of them; three, have a long discussion about them and what went wrong in my life, so that I end up with feet like that. I'm not sure whether I told him the short version of the answer "Communism". From my behalf, I initially loved my bunions, when they came around at the precocious age of eleven as a secondary effect of wearing wooden Soviet points - the general effect obviously being... well, dancing on points. I don't know about now and about points of other make, but Soviet points, lovely satin pink as they were, were literally small wooden feet-coffins. It's only that the satin was from the outside, not from the inside. Yet, there was nothing more proud than having your points ordered for you from Moscow by your ballet-teacher, and you end up loving them with everything they bring to you - bunions included. Nothing could stop me from loving my bunions; not even Edi Murphy's Cop of Beverly Hills character who while in bed* with a pretty woman, so she had bunions and had to discard  her... I thought he's simply missing the fact that she's got them while ballet-dancing and there is nothing wrong with that.**

Turning back to where we started though, dear Lady of Fun and Laughters, I think you may have a new vocation thanks to the thin and hyper-sensitive foot-skin you've grown. You might wish to put it in gentis officio! Just like Sir Samuel Vimes,  the Commander of Ankh's Watch, who's sols have grown so thin of walking the streets that he feels every stone and pebble and they talk to him; you equally could put yourself in service of the Met Police and stay barefooted on a scene of a kreme! See what will come of that!

In the meanwhile I recommend Versche's 'Shearling Safety Pin Boots', the inbetweeners of Uggs and Doc Martens. Here 

My pleasure. Always attentive to my Champagne Ladyship feetwelloffness.

Other than that, I am personally waiting for the still new "mini-invasive laser surgery" of the bunion practiced now only in Vienna, to become more popular and available on the NHS.

And CW, please be aware that my friends the feet-conversation is an old-women's conversation and tend to apologies after having it. I tell them not to worry, as for me it was topical sincever I was eleven.

*Not quite sure whether he was in bed or on a date. That was ages ago.

**ABAS! ABAS! With Hollywood! The place is compromised beyond repair. The film-industry needs a new Mecca.

22 November 2020

 

Thanks to Our Lady of Fun and Laughters today I learnt the difference between stemp and stomp. I wanted to tell her that I said farewell to high-hills after only two classes of flamenco and all the stomp-stemping one does on emotionally-high-flamenco-hills. Otherwise, I have plenty of exciting stories about me on high-hills, but I'll leave them for another, less emancipated times. Who knows who will come around to power next time and what sort of stories we'll have to shake down our sleeves...