Someone pass me the sander...

We all have our dirty little secrets. The only thing is that mine are not so secret. They are right on the end of my legs and in the summer time tend to be out in the open. There's no hiding the fact that I have disgusting feet.

Think elephant had an affair with a crocodile with a dermatological problem type of feet. If you are laughing you probably don't understand the full extent of the problem. If your skin just crawled and your stomach turned, then you have displayed the appropriate level of revulsion.

If we ignore the fact that I am not a regular maintenance type of gal, I don't know what's up with my feet. They are disgusting year around. Dry as all heck, a dryness that has been greatly exacerbated since the DS surgery (Dr L warned me about dry skin). They crack (and hurt), the peel, they look the feet of, well, a elephant/crocodile off spring...

I can't bear to have anyone touch my feet. No loving stroking of the feet as part of foreplay for this woman. Touch my feet and that's as far as it's likely to go. If I'm turned off by my own feet there is no way on earth that I'm going to be able to accept that it doesn't totally gross you out honey. Even when thinking with the little head, it can't be good...

So my goal (and I've just realized I need to start setting myself little goals) is to do some major renovation work on these puppies. Effective this morning I will sand/chisel/ strip with solvent the crap off my feet until I have smooth to the touch tootsies. I figure it's going to take at least a month to undo the major damage.

Now Laural - no peeking when we next meet for a coffee...