Respect the peeler.

I have a blister from my stripper shoes.

Let me back up a bit.

Last night was Big Stoopid Gala, the one and only black tie event that I attend each year. This was the first year that I attended as an innocent bystander instead of a volunteer. It was great – all I had to do was show up and enjoy the bounty of the open bar.

Well, that, and buy my very first ever bit of shapewear. You know, to keep the loose and breezy looking dress loose and breezy instead of lumpy and semi-disfiguring.

The shapeware? Not as effective as losing 10 pounds. But ok.

But while I was wrangling into the shapeware and begging my pedicure to dry, I made the mistake of watching the finale of Rock of Love II.

Yes. I was glued to the tube watching new-to-me trash TV. Would Bret choose Daisy, the stripper with the collagen lips? Or Ambre, the TV presenter?

What amazes me? Well, besides everything about this show? They keep talking about Ambre as being so driven and such a career woman. She’s a TV presenter! She makes me look like Diane Keaton from the beginning of Baby Boom. Well, minus the shoulder pads.

And also? What woman really thinks that neck tattoos are a good, long-term decision? Because Daisy, you’re rockin’ that look at 25. But at 40? Well, you’re gonna be wearing a lot of scarves. And turtlenecks. And you will be described as looking “hard.”

Not hatin’, just saying.

So, anyway. Gentle reader, heed my warning. Do not choose your footwear for a night out on the town while you’re watching a show where women try to out-whore each other.

Rock of Love made me think that of course I should wear the four-inch heels! They are sassy and elongate my legs! And will help me avoid looking lumpy and disfigured!

All was well until about 11:30 last night, when I decided that I had a rock in my shoe. I decided to tough it out.

Once in the car, post-party, I discovered the awful truth. That ain’t no rock. That’s a blister. A blister the size of Cleveland, smack in the middle of the ball of my left foot.

I figured it would feel fine this morning. Alas, no! I can feel it throbbing, even as I sit on my couch. I wore my very favorite Mizuno running shoes to run errands today, in the hopes that my aching foot would be soothed by their superior arch support. These are, after all, the most expensive shoes I’ve ever owned and worth every penny.

Alas, no. I actually considered taking my shoe off in the middle of Goodwill because the throbbing was so intense. I considered going sock-footed in a thrift store, people. Does that express the order of magnitude of this blister?

Let’s just say that I have a new-found respect for the girls who work the pole. I figure there’s no room for insoles in those clear plastic heels, yet they keep struttin’. More power to you, ladies.

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