So hey, remember the shoes I said I was wearing the most? Yeah, so I'm about to swear off of them. Scoob has started painting his models again. (He calls them models; I call them figurines. Whatevah. I guess it just sounds more manly his way.)
Actually we've done a bit of furniture rearranging so he has a designated space for this activity. He used to do this in the summers out on the patio, but then he'd come inside for something and forget to go back out again, which meant he also would forget to pick up his stuff. So I'm happy to have a corner set aside for his "models" if it means I don't have to deal with the detritus in other areas of the house.
Anyhow, Scoob asked me to go to an art supply store near my office to pick up some matte varnish for acrylics. I set out to do that on my lunch break thinking, "Sure, I can do that. It's just a couple blocks over at the end of the street." Well, woe to the me, y'all. It was half a mile down, and half a mile back. And guess which shoes I was wearing today. Oy!
By the time I got to the store (and discovered they had a more than ample parking lot) I could feel the balls of my feet screaming at me to just stop. For the love of God, please stop walking! Then there was the squinchy feeling—not quite the squishy blister feeling, but that pinchy/squeaky/almost squishy feeling that says, Hello, I'm going to be a blister if you don't STOP WALKING THIS VERY INSTANT!
Did I stop? Hell no. I roamed the aisles looking for what it was that Scoob needed. It's a darn good thing I told him to send it to me in an email (I love my iPhone), otherwise I would have picked up the first matte varnish I spotted (which was for oils, not acrylics). And that just wouldn't do. That would have meant doing this again tomorrow. No. Thank. You.
Then I had to walk back to the office. Which turned into limping. And devolved to shuffling. I had to fight the fierce urge to stick out my thumb and hitch a ride for that last block.
Anyhow, I'm still at work. With my shoes off. Hoping I don't have to move from this chair for the rest of the day because I'll go barefoot if I have to, ragged toenails, chipped paint, calloused heels, and all. Wishing I had a pair of socks to at least hide my scary feet and not quite seem so Oakie. A few folks do regularly shuffle around the office in their socks, so it wouldn't seem quite so out of place. (Hello. Berkeley!)
Also wondering if I really need to eat that frozen entree I brought for lunch. I may just stick it under my desk and rest my feet on it.
I don't think I'll be running my own errands I had planned for after work tonight. I won't be hobbling them either. The things we do for art. And love.