As a teenager the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world was to have smaller feet. There were plenty of other things I would have liked to change - I wanted straighter teeth and bigger breasts, I wanted a boyfriend and a fake ID, I wanted Levis and Doc Martens. But I would have traded any and all of the above for smaller feet. I was (and am) a size 8 1/2 (a 42 in those funny European measurements) which is unusually large of hoof for a lady. Bootcut jeans hadn't been invented in 1990s Ireland so my freakishly large feet weren't easily hidden, and school shoes spelled social and sartorial disaster because I had to wear a skirt, meaning that my footwear would be in full view. Fashionable girls' shoes simply didn't fit; it was straight to the dowdy oul' wan section for shoes that were built to accommodate bunions ("she'll have a bit more room in them") or worse still, the men's section. My sense of fashion, sharp as it is, did little to help matters. My blue suede shoes (a mistake, I realise now) prompted an uncle to ask if I had planning permission for them, my beautiful red Converse sent some spotty little cunt in school into convulsions because I looked like I was wearing clown shoes. Family, friends and strangers alike would comment on the impressive size of my feet, not realising how devastating their comments were to a breastless and boyfriendless teenager's already fragile self-confidence. My feet became the focus of all of my teenage angst, the root of all my problems, a source of acute and crippling embarrassment. I remember crying in frustration, it was all so unfair.
And then I grew out of it. I don't remember when. I've grown to love my feet - they're long and narrow, pretty, elegant*. They haven't shrunk and I still have difficulty finding shoes that fit; though not that much fucking difficulty, obviously, given that I have about fifty million pairs. I think it might be because I had such trouble over the years, I now buy every pair that fits. It may also be because I have a narcissistic shoe fetish, but a girl has to have some bad habits. I can't tell you how many pairs I own at present because (a) I've run out of digits to count them and (b) it's criminal.
I can only assume that in another 10 years time I will be utterly delighted and entranced by my flat chest and will start buying exotic and expensive underwear with which to accentuate it.
And maybe 10 years after that I'll be reveling in my boyfriendlessness, having finally realised that it's as essential to my adorable personality as my freakishly large feet.
*I know at least one person who will strenuously beg to differ and who thinks I have "alien feet" but, well, fuck you.
And then I grew out of it. I don't remember when. I've grown to love my feet - they're long and narrow, pretty, elegant*. They haven't shrunk and I still have difficulty finding shoes that fit; though not that much fucking difficulty, obviously, given that I have about fifty million pairs. I think it might be because I had such trouble over the years, I now buy every pair that fits. It may also be because I have a narcissistic shoe fetish, but a girl has to have some bad habits. I can't tell you how many pairs I own at present because (a) I've run out of digits to count them and (b) it's criminal.
I can only assume that in another 10 years time I will be utterly delighted and entranced by my flat chest and will start buying exotic and expensive underwear with which to accentuate it.
And maybe 10 years after that I'll be reveling in my boyfriendlessness, having finally realised that it's as essential to my adorable personality as my freakishly large feet.
*I know at least one person who will strenuously beg to differ and who thinks I have "alien feet" but, well, fuck you.
