Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Sasquatch, at your Service

The vagaries of aging regularly leave me flummoxed.  Is it not enough that I have a poochy belly? That my thick, lustrous mane has transformed into a thin ratty mess most reminiscent of a cheap bath mat?  That the glow on my skin is actually a sheen of menopausal perspiration?  Isn't all that enough, Fate, you hateful bitch?
Apparently not.  Please tell me why it is necessary for my feet to get larger.  They were already a size 10, which makes finding anything decent on sale downright impossible because the trannies beat me to it.  The low-heeled, pointy-toed black cowboy boots that used to make me prance like a saucy bitch now make me mince like I am trying to hold a carrot between my butt cheeks.  This is NOT FUNNY.  My feet hurt.  My giant Sasquatch feet.


Maura said...

The trannies called. They'll take those sexy low-heeled, pointy-toed black cowboy off your hands, erm...feet for you anytime.

WackyGrandma said...

Aw, I feel for ya. I can't wear the beautiful rings my daughter got me for Christmas and Mother's Day because I wake up with sausage fingers.