chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

bad feet…

Dorothy in saddle shoes, 1947At the children’s shoe store in Westwood Village, laced into a new pair of shoes, I stepped onto the fluoroscope, leaned toward the eyepiece and peered down at my phalanges and metatarsals within the stitched outline of the shoes. All of us had our feet irradiated then. If I asked and no one was waiting, the salesman would let me step onto the machine barefoot. It was fun to see your bones.

Distressing as it is in retrospect, the upshot was that I wore saddle shoes. That my mother also favored saddle shoes did not make them more appealing to me. They were stiff and heavy and, as I saw it, obliterated any lingering possibility that I would ever be pretty or popular.

Sadly, neither the fluoroscope nor the sensible shoes prevented me from having bad feet. Nor, even if I kept them polished to a gloss, did they make my mother like me any better.
. . . . .
photo: my mother in saddle shoes, 1947

3 responses to “bad feet…

  1. Catherine Hillenbrand August 13, 2013 at 9:17 am

    i had to wear brown oxfords and thin white socks because I was slew-footed and pronated inward. No tennie runners, no penny loafers and bobby socks until I escaped to boarding school!

  2. jik August 13, 2013 at 9:27 am

    Oh, our small and painful humiliations!

  3. tomwisk August 13, 2013 at 1:38 pm

    I remember the x-ray machines in shoe stores. I wore white suede shoes like Pat Boone. At school I had a pair of shoes from Thom McCann that had a flap with a flap that was attached with some sort of metal. The rest of the time PF Keds.

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