I was disconsolately (and slightly disgustingly, I’ll admit) plucking my toe hairs and pensively musing about Oscar Pistorius. So, in all respects, it was a normal Friday night. I winced when I yanked a hair from its glistening root and glumly concluded that I might, in fact, have hobbit feet, as my loved ones have all too gleefully claimed. Even my faithful boyfriend affectionately – and annoyingly – calls me Samwise, after the hapless hobbit in Lord of The Rings.
The hobbit comparisons aren’t helped by my short stature (there is a woman at work shorter than me for what is quite possibly the first time in my life and now I feel like a TOWERING GIANT THAT LOOKS DOWN ON MEN FROM COLOSSAL HEIGHTS). They also aren’t helped by my feet. Oh, my feet. My ghastly, awful, podgy feet. With toes like chipolata sausages and unfortunate little hairs that sprout like a pre-pubescent teenager’s chin. I blame my mother for my podgy trotters – I got a lot of good things from her in the genetic lottery, but an exact photocopy of her tiny footses was not one of them.
It was only when I went to get running shoes that my suspicions about my hobbit feet was confirmed by what must be considered a foot expert – a man who professionally prescribes running shoes. After examining me, he said, ‘You have a flat, high, wide foot…’ he paused and grinned, ‘Was your uncle called Frodo?’
My brother guffawed.
I was not amused.
I don’t think I have hobbit feet. But I do think I have a fad foodt. I really sympathise with Charlotte in this excerpt from And God Created the Au Pair (seriously the funniest book I have ever read – buy it, buy it, buy it – it’s a series of fictional emails between sisters and will make you laugh out loud) who also has a fad foodt:
‘Fran rang to say did I want to go to their sample sale. Was moderately excited at the idea of cheap designer shoes so I agreed to go along. Sale very busy when I got there & Fran was already there drinking a glass of wine & staggering around in a pair of atrocious purple court shoes. Hissed to her had she done completely fucking insane? She then did whizzy eye motion which I gathered to mean “look around you”. Did same whizzy eye motion myself & saw all Hektor & Luis shoes excruciatingly awful, so said shall we just go? Fran said no must at least just try on a couple of pairs otherwise we’d look really rude & then handed me the most extraordinary pair of spike-heeled black patent boots with white patient spats attached. Managed to get one of my porky trotters in & was just about to put other on for authenticity when Hektor (assume it was him – v thick German accent) came running up shouting “NO, NO dis iss not in sample sale dis iss for Wogue shoot on Vensday!!!! how did dis showe ged here???? please to take showe ov immediately!!” Unfortunately as I tried to take it off the fucking zip got stuck on the spat bit so my foot was half in & half out & rapidly swelling. Fran meanwhile was cowering behind the shoe rack trying not to wet herself, so no bloody use. Hektor jumped up & down shrieking “Please to take showe ov NOW!!” while I sweatily bleated “I’m trying, I’m trying!” Then Hektor screamed across the room “LUIS!!! Dis voman hes her fad foodt stuck in de Wogue boot undt IS BREAKING ID!” This made Luis come running over too so by now all eyes were on the woman with the “fad foodt” whose foodt was considerably fadder than before it went into the fucking boot. Luis also started to shriek but thank god someone sensible called Angela came over & calmly & quietly undid hidden Velcro fastening for the spat bit at the back, allowing zip to open fully & me to remove my very puffy red foot complete with red weals where it had been pressing against the zip. Limped off briskly with Fran in tow.’