Last five days have been all sorts of extreme, especially on my really supporting buddies: liver, lungs, legs and most importantly… my feet.
Gained a full (shoe) size due to attempts to “So you think you can dance” (until five in the morning that is) and living out a “Last woman standing” soap, ending in the “Gutter” (read: bar) every night.
Plus am declaring balancing on carpet-covered sand on the way to the next beach bar an art form. Officially.
“Burning feet” is putting the state of emergency mildly, can surely exhibit upper body parts plus heels in the torture museum (Categories “bloated”, “sore” and “might burst”).
But hey: am far from complaining: have invented the perfect Spa-anti-swelling-give-party-feet-some-rest solution. By simply putting them in the fridge. Aaaaaaaaaah!
Almost tempted to dismantle my new life- (or feet) saver from the Cannes apartment and smuggle it through customs, when I realize the weather situation at home.
13 degrees and raining. Sounds like heaven.
Today’s shoes are Paul Warmer