These are my pretty, pink shoes. You aren't seeing them on my pretty, pink feet because I don't have pretty, pink feet. I have spider vein-wrought feet. This, however, does not preclude me from wearing pretty, pink shoes. A girl's gotta live.
My spider veins are quite impressive in their own right. I must tell you about them since you won't be seeing them. (Thank your lucky stars.) They--my veins not your stars--look like an ant farm transit map.
As a medical specimen, I'm sure I'm quite stunning, or maybe that's appalling. No matter.
My veins wile away the time thinking of ways of becoming even more hideous. My husband's always thought I've had great gams despite my scene-stealing venous system. Take that, my little pretties.
I try not to think about them, or look at them, or be in the same room with them, but they keep following me around.
If I ever get bored in my geriatric years--and I don't plan on doing that because I'll be too busy acting crazy since it will be harder to tell if I really am or if I'm just messin' widcha. At any rate when the time comes, I plan on taking a blue Sharpie and completing the gaps in my transit map. Just to have something to do. It shouldn't take long, but it will make me feel better. Give me a sense of finality and closure to my burgeoning transportation system.
The rest of the ladies down my nursing home hall will wag their tongues and shake their heads. Or maybe they'll saddle up beside and join me. 'Cause a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. In her pretty, pink shoes.
link: Del Rubio Triplets, Psychedelic Furs
Some Good News and Some Bad News
1 year ago