Wednesday, August 31, 2005

foot fetish

Every now and again I get naff flights of fancy, which is annoying as it shows that I'm more 'Chardonnay' from 'Footballers' Slappers' than 'Virginia Woolf' from 'the Hours' (joke).

Anyway, the whole navel gazing reached its peak during what I affectionately remember as the poetically dark days of teenagedom. Aw, the bitter pleasure I took from forensically examining my reflection. Many the self-portrait was drawn during these days, and depending on the curve of the wave of my manic-depression they tended to a spectrum from dashingly flattering to cruelly mean to deep angry scribbles - á la The Ring. Perhaps followed by a poem or three about how fat I was or else futility or possibly both. 'Futility' was probably my favourite word at the time. And then a twix and some Dave Fanning, interspersed with a walk seven times around the housing estate with a friend. Aw, how great it was to be hideously depressed.

Of course, that is well behind me, and I can smirk fondly at my narcissism thinking I don't spend much time on how I look now. But that's pure bull, I'm not outdoorsy, I don't breeze about in fleeces. I still get the odd slight fixation - such as:

a. 'Oh, blah. I'm bored. What will I do. My, maybe I should put on a face-pack' (annual fixation)
b. 'Flabberly flubberly, bingo wings ahoy! I need to get fit' (maybe twice a year)
c. 'AAAAAAGH I HATE LIFE, WORK, THE UNIVERSE. I NEED MEANING! where are my scented candles, joss sticks, oil stuff, I'm going to sit on my bed cross legged and maybe that will help' (déja vu - reverting to those earlier days. I should chill weekly... bi-monthly in reality)
c. 'My eyebrows are a bit apeish, where's the tweezers' (monthly I think - probably should be more)

and so (predictably) on. Anyway, at the moment I've noticed my feet and have spent euros galore on lotions and potions and soaks and pumice-scrub thingys. This is giving me all manner of pleasure. It's just funny really as I've stopped wearing my sandals this week (weather - come on Dublin, give me a break), and have taken to using them as slippers.

Tonight for example - could have gone pinting, could have gone to the cinema, but no. In the bathroom I oohed and awed over my footsies. I'm like a neglectful mother to them really. Twenty seven years of nothing, and there I am dragging my mate into Boots at lunchtime to get one of those 'Sanctury' three pack of foot things. And the dreadful thing is, like most things, I know that 'this too shall pass'... so sorry in advance my precious feet.

Comments:
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