Happy Feet's Replacement

After learning a ton from this article, I've come to the conclusion that I have mostly healthy (and happy) feet. Oh, and that I'm pretty healthy, too. Pshh, I only experience one of those symptoms listed in 18 Things Your Feet Say About Your Health. One. Out of 18. That means I'm ONLY 5.55% messed up. Therefore, I'm declaring myself to be the new happy feet spokesperson. How do you like my slogan:

Forget gellin' like a felon,
how about gettin' jiggy wit it
like a midget?

Let's see here, 100-5.55=94.45. I'm 94.45% good, people! I think this means that when I was in elementary school and on crutches, and a girl started a rumor to her class that I was faking the whole "having bad feet" thing, she was right. I guess I really didn't have feet problems! What joyous news that I've only just uncovered.

Now that I've realized how happy and healthy my feet are, I can't help but wonder if I only had 6 foot surgeries because the podiatrist has a foot fetish and just wanted alone time--with my feet--while I laid unconscious on the operating table for seven hours each time. Hmm. If that's the case, it's not any of my business, really.

Man, I'm starting to think deeply now. Are articles supposed to make you reflect on past experiences in your life?

As I reflect on my numerous surgeries, I'm now starting to wonder why I had that grueling back surgery that left me in a back brace for months--the same surgery that stunted my ability to grow taller. I could've been 5'4". 5'4"! Life changing.

Do you think that back specialist just wanted alone time to sneak a peek at my feet, too (rush Shannon to the operating table!...eh, let's knock her out for 8 hours this time)? I don't care. He could've messed with my feet and I wouldn't have known the difference. My feet already look like Fred Flintstone's feet--how much more could they get screwed up? Oh, that's right, they got screwed up on my fourth surgery when many screws and pins were meticulously placed inside each of my feet, only to have the screws removed from one foot on my sixth surgery.

At least I was able to write a fifth grade award-winning autobiographical incident about my back surgery. I guess my teacher loved reading about me being under the influence of anesthesia, all the while using my bunny stuffed animal to play Peek-a-Boo with the doctors and nurses. The darndest things those kids do.

...but I didn't have the foot surgeries for nothing! I have actually benefited from these apparently not-needed surgeries, believe it or not. Without them, how in the world would I be privileged enough to park in a handicapped spot for sixth months (besides stealing my grandma's sign...which I don't do...)? How else would I be able to go through the exits of Disneyland rides--waiting 5 minutes instead of 90--without having a wheelchair? How else could I have the excuse to race my grandma in one of those motorized carts at Wal-Mart? If you look helpless, remember, people are scared to approach you and tell you NOT to be doing something (Excuse me, ma'am, but you probably shouldn't be going more than 5 miles per hour on that wheelchair. You might hit someone. [Reminder to self: NEVER let Grandma drive a motorized cart in Disneyland again]). And, lastly, how in the heck would I be able to get out of mowing the lawn for 2 weeks?

Do you think that girl dressed as a nerd at that last Halloween dance, who complimented me on my feet, rather than my costume ("I just want to tell you that you have the cutest feet!") was really telling me that my feet look healthy, and therefore, happy?

My Frankenstein foot.

I wonder.