I awake daily with excruciating plantar fasciitis because I was born an old man and my body hates me.
So I went to my unusually funny podiatrist who took one look at my foot, said “Oof.” then wrapped my entire right foot in gauze and athletic tape. She said “Keep that on for four days,” then she narrowed her eyes and growled, “and whatever you do… do not get it wet.”
That night I attempted to shower.
It was a nightmare.
I don’t have the core strength, nor the flexibility to hang my foot out of the shower and balance on my other foot while trying to bathe. I danced around on my soapy toes like a drunken chimp until I slipped over and bruised my arm. Water dripped down my leg and onto the floor, flooding the bathroom and saturating my bandages.
Shakespeare wrote, in King Henry IV, Part 1: “Before the game is afoot, thou still let’st slip”
I don’t know what it means, but I’m pretty sure he’s making fun o’ me.
Bruised and battered, but not defeated, I gave up on showering. For the rest of the week, every day was…