My Aching Footprint

This expression is from a friend of mine. I have no idea of its origin or meaning. My friend most often says this when she has a pointless Bunco roll or no move in Mexican Train or cards. Neither situation requires footwork, unless you consider metaphoric options. But, this week I have reason to agonize over my aching footprint.

I injured my right foot in May of last year while mowing the yard of the vacant house next door. What followed were several trips to a podiatrist, time wearing a splint and finally a boot, and months wearing a single pair of sandals. I graduated to a single pair of dancing shoes that I wore out.

Only recently have I begun to wear REAL shoes again: Dress shoes to church activities. Athletic shoes for exercise. Garden clogs in the yard. Stylish Wellingtons to water the garden plot.

But that came to an abrupt halt this week when I re-injured my foot. I am not even sure what I did to my foot, but walking around Ft. Vancouver on Sunday was a bit uncomfortable. By the middle of the night, my foot was throbbing enough to wake me up. By the time I finished collecting another four cans of yard debris on Monday, I was in serious trouble.

Ice and rest. Being on my feet to do only absolutely necessary tasks. Ice and elevating my foot. Back to wearing my trusty sandals. Ahh... I remember it well.  

Oh, my aching footprint!