Big Foot

Admittedly, I am a big girl. I have a great wide mouth with copious teeth. I have large hands and broad shoulders. My waist is reasonably narrow, but in the tradition of the back and rack proportion, the tits and ass are ample. I can balance all these assets on one frame because I have rather large feet.

These dogs that keep me upright are a size 10. You get a true perspective of a large foot when you go shoe shopping. Spying a dainty shoe sample on display, when the correct sized version arrives for you try on, it takes on the proportions of a battleship. You need two hands to hold it aloft before you finagle your generous toes into it. I'm so past the embarrassment.

Big feet do offer some curious impediments. Stairways (especially in older buildings such as the one I reside in) are rather narrow and I risk life and limb trying to maneuver my generous dogs down the delicate steps. On today's airline seats, wedging my large feet under the seat ahead of me is akin to a gopher insinuating itself through a mouse hole. And there's a reason why the Nepalese pedicurist I frequent rolls her eyes when I walk through the nail salon door--I own a lot of pedorthic real estate that she is required to landscape. She can't charge me on square footage alone so I do try to tip her generously to compensate.

On the positive side, these healthy feet do keep me fairly stable despite my proportions. I came to realize they can deliver a healthy punch when utilized in a round kick. I'm one of the first picks for kickball (if I still played kickball--maybe I should join Hollaback's Sunday Kickball League). I learned from MaryCatherineFullofGrace how to use my toes to pick up things from the ground so I don't have to bend over (note that MCFoG has minuscule feet so the gesture looks adorable when she does it; slightly grotesque when I do it). And big feet seem to be able to carry off a 4 inch wedge heel with a certain aplomb.

My mother had the same size 10 feet as I have. So did her mother, my grandmother Hilda. When they were living, we shared shoes and given their sophisticated taste, that was a definite plus. If Fang wore women's shoes (which mercifully he doesn't), his foot would slip easily into my shoes. I like to think that should he ever have a latent tendency toward transvestism, he'd have at least 10o pairs to parade around in. That notion tends to ease my guilt every time I buy yet another pair.

I've come to terms with my big feet. I worry more about my big ass. Maybe I can find someone to share pants with.