Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Stupidest Injury Ever

I have the stupidest injury in the world.

My big toe has been injured. To be more specific, the joint where my toe meets my foot is swollen and hurts. To be even more specific, the join hurts right on that spot where your foot would make contact with the floor if you stood on your toes.

Or if you were wearing high heels.

I only wear high heels to fancy occasions and job interviews, which is to say that I only wear high heels on job interviews. Sure, they look fabulous while you are standing in front of the mirror, pretending that you are on the Red Carpet. For any practical movement (like, say, walking), however, they serve more like the toga did for the old Roman Senators: the inability to move easily in the garment demonstrated that they held such a high position that they did not have to move at all. Such are high heels.

So, why would I wear them to interviews? Well, they make me feel grown-up, they make me look bad-ass professional, and they go great with my suits. Otherwise, they sit pretty in my closet, taunting me with aggressive femininity. "Yeah," they seem to say, sounding surprisingly like Jack Nicholson, "you want to look fabulous, but can you handle the pain?" Fabulous is not for the weak of sole.

So, I was at this interview, wearing these shoes, thankful that we were always in such small quarters and seated in such a way that no one would notice that I had forgotten to cover the tattoo on my ankle. I had walked from my hotel room to my car. From the car to the hotel desk. From the hotel desk to the car. From the car to the student center. From the student center to the interview room. From the interview room to the Dean's office. From the Dean's office to the car. From the car to the rest stop bathroom, where I changed into my jeans and tennis shoes. This was perhaps a grand total of 100 yards, if that much. I did nothing unusual. I did not slip and fall. I did not kick anything or anyone. Just walked. And I somehow managed to injure my toe.

This is really the stupidest injury in the world.


Hahn at Home said...

Give yourself 10 years--you'll wonder why you ever wore heels once you discover the mandatory, middle-age "comfortable shoes." Just put it on your calendar.

Hope the toe is better soon, kiddo.

annulla said...

Just so you know, the condition is called "hallux rigidus." At least, that's what it seems like to me.

Identifying the name might not make you feel better (in fact I'm sure it won't) but at least you'll know you're not alone.

Blather From Brooklyn

Clio Bluestocking said...

Jeez, Annulla, I HOPE it isn't as serious as that! But, yes, giving it a name makes it seem less stupid!

Lori, I don't beleive I need to mark my calendar since today is that day when I convert my entire shoe wardrobe to "comfortable shoes!" Indeed, I think I am going to construct my whole clothes wardrobe to fit my flat-heeled, lace-up boots. They are my favorite shoes and have NEVER caused me an injury. Why, oh why, did I ever forsake them?

Shark-fu said...

I feel you!

My freakish ankle injury is still healing.

I'm to the point of adoring my ortho-shoes...

Clio Bluestocking said...

Shark-fu, wasn't a sorta-beagle involve in that incident, as well? It's been a while too, hasn't it? Ouch! I guess there is a reason that the ortho-shoes and old lady shoes are good for you.

Another History Blog said...

Sorry you're hurting, Clio, but this is NOT the "stupidist injury ever." I won't say more, but I'll leave you and your readers with some advice: After a few drinks, when you think your cigarette lighter might be running low, don't hold it up to your ear to test it by seeing if you can hear any gas coming out as you strike it.

Clio Bluestocking said...

But if alcohol (or a sorta-beagle) is involved, then you are off the hook. The alcohol caused you to behave with less that astute attention to safety and sensibility. I was stone-cold sober and without an excuse in the world except vanity!

Mercifully, the toe is now functional, if a tad sore on the bottom side.


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