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Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Pauline's Pronation Party!

Now I’m on school holidays it’s time to get all those revolting medical appointments over and done with.

I had an appointment with the podiatrist this arvo and at least I didn’t have to spend the entire day dreading it.

I mean… at least they weren't going to perform horrifically painful, invasive procedures in my mouth (like the dentist) or rudely poke my vagina (like the doctor). 

The issue was only concerning my feet and surely they wouldn’t need to see my vagina for that?


I was going to see about my bunion, the infamous Paul/Pauline Bunyan

Ironically my booked podiatrist was named Paul and I couldn’t wait to tell him about his namesake.

I’d been to Athlete's Foot to buy a pair of runners yesterday and Melanie, the shop assistant, had almost fainted when she first spied Paul/Pauline.

“We may have a problem here,” Melanie smiled wanly as she measured my feet. “One of your feet is about 2 centimetres longer than the other because of your (nervous cough)… that big ‘thing’ on your toe.”
“I’m going to the orthodontist about it tomorrow!” I exclaimed defensively.

“You mean the podiatrist,” she smiled.

“Oh yeah, I meant a podiatrist. I was just thinking about orthotics in shoes and got mixed up,” I replied sheepishly.
Mind you, Paul/Pauline is getting so big he/she almost needs braces.

The previous week I was strolling around the shopping centre when the strap on my sandal broke. Paul/Pauline had burst through it in all his/her glory. Paul/Pauline was finally demanding medical attention in the only way he/she knew how.

Anyway, I arrived at the podiatrist this afternoon after carefully showering, shaving and lavishly spraying my feet with Balenciaga Flora Botanica and cutting my toenails beforehand.

I have a similar preparation ritual when I know the doctor is going to be looking at my pink bits (except the cutting toenails bit). 

I’m just like that, okay?

Podiatrist Paul was lovely. He made me do all sorts of things like walk up and down the hallway and stand on my toes while he watched intently.

“You have Pronation,” he declared triumphantly. “Some people say Pronation is bad but it’s not always bad.”

I squinted at him thinking he was referring to Pauline Hanson for some reason.

‘Pronation is always bad!’ I thought to myself quietly.

Then he went on to describe how Pronation is a fancy way to describe the way your foot rolls inward when you walk and because I have loose ligaments mine rolls in excessively.

The long and short of it is; I have a large bunion.

Who knew?

I need orthotics which will cost me over $1000.

It won’t annihilate Paul/Pauline but it may stop it from growing to the point where it needs be enrolled in Prep School.

Then, Paul the podiatrist proceeded to shave bits of dead skin from under my toes. I watched the flaky slivers of my yellowed corns drop onto his perfectly ironed pants and wondered who did his washing.

If Scotto was a podiatrist I wouldn’t let him into the house without a Silkwood style wash down, I’m here to tell you.

I never summoned the guts to tell Paul the podiatrist my bony protrusion/extra toe/alien baby shared the same name as him. It would have been awkward.

Especially when he had his tiny little grinder out and it tickled my feet so much I started giggling like a three year old.

Have you ever been to a podiatrist?