An Open Letter to My Feet.

Hello you two. How are you? Tired? You certainly have reason to be. Right now we’re on a bus and I have you up on a seat (which is so not classy) but I can feel you quivering with nervous anticipation because we have to run to an appointment and we’re late. You don’t ever really get to relax. And I’m sorry for that.

In 2016 I wanted to be as busy as possible. And I’ve certainly succeeded. But I’m afraid that has been to your detriment. It’s not that we ever had that much relaxation time before, but this year we have been constantly running to appointments, college, events and all the other stuff we do. I also have a habit of getting drunk and going out dancing which I don’t think you particularly enjoy.

Sometimes I think about that time that I fell in love with that pair of boots with the slight heel, even though they were miles too small for me. You and I spent many an evening squishing you into them and making you walk around with them on. And then when I was finally able to wear them out, I ended up having the busiest day and running around way more than I thought I would. And then on top of all that, I agreed to go on a spontaneous night out with some of my friends, at which point you gave up and I had to walk around in my bare feet.

You must really fucking hate me. In fact, I know you hate me because of all the pain you put me through. You’re in a horrible condition that no ped-egg could cure. I have to hide you from civilisation in the fear that an angry mob will come to my door looking to burn you at the stake.

I’m sorry that I put you through so much, although I doubt you forgive me. Unfortunately, we’re approaching a new year and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. I’m afraid you’ll be put through the ringer again and again. The only comfort I can offer you is that when I’m rich, I plan to treat you to plenty of pedicures and douse you in expensive foot creams.

I hope we can be friends someday, rather than cautious acquaintances. I hope that you someday find solace and are put to rest in a nice spa resort (but that’s partly because I’m attached to you). Most of all, I hope that someday you won’t look like, well I’m not actually going to describe your current state for fear that my readers will report this post.

You’re not ugly, you’ve just been destroyed.

Best wishes,

David Beattie.

4 thoughts on “An Open Letter to My Feet.

  1. Pingback: An Open Letter to my Face. | Laylah Talks

  2. Pingback: Why I Can Never be Good at Social Media | Laylah Talks

  3. Pingback: An Open Letter to My Hair. | Laylah Talks

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