Gazette Big Foot sighting
For a few years, I was the person who transcribed Readers Voice, so I’m familiar with the large number of calls the line gets. But now that I’ve actually made it IN Readers Voice, I realize how well read it is, too.
I know that because most everywhere I’ve gone recently, someone has made a point of staring at my feet.
A week or two back, after mentioning for perhaps the second or tenth time in my column that my feet are less than attractive and a tad larger than normal for someone my height, an inquisitive reader called in the following to Reader’s Voice: “In Karin Fuller’s Sunday column, she often alludes to how big and grotesque her feet are. Please publish a picture of her feet so we can see for ourselves.”
This, of course, prompted some razzing by coworkers about how they could run my foot photo actual size, except the paper wasn’t quite big enough. Or how—rather than risk an unappetizing foot photo spoiling someone’s breakfast–they could run a traced foot outline instead. Maybe even sell some ad space inside.
Truth is, I’m accustomed to the jokes. It’s not like my feet grew this large overnight. As a child, I remember people predicting how tall I would be once I grew into my feet. Never happened. I stopped at 5’4”.
My feet not only went long, but they went wide as well, the span decorated by bulgy veins under thin, pasty skin and toes as long as my thumb. (Color occasionally added in the form of red, angry stripes courtesy of a surly cat with a foot fetish.)
When my husband and I first started dating, I made some comment about my feet being ugly. Geoff, with a disbelieving wave of his hand, said, “Oh, please. All women think their feet are . . . Good Lord! Look at the size of those puppies!”
Perhaps if I were more poised, they would draw less attention, but since I walk as gracefully as a horse wearing clown shoes with gum on the soles, I suspect that I’m doomed. Just last week, as I was taking our dogs out early in the morning, my size 10 feet couldn’t finagle our size-five stair treads and I went tumbling down.
Another time, while seeing a movie with friends, we shared the largest tub of popcorn they had. After all were done munching, I put the mostly empty bucket on the floor, then sat cross-legged through the rest of the movie. When it ended and I stood, my foot went right in the bucket. And stuck there. Step-clomp. Step-clomp.
My friends, once they were done cracking up, helped free me from my bucket of shame, then couldn’t resist trying it on. Each of them, of course, could slip it on and off easily.
For years, I avoided wearing open-toed shoes or strap-y heels, opting instead for sandals that provided the best combination of ventilation and camouflage. Recently, however, I purchased my first pair of flip-flops since I was a kid. Upon wearing them, I was immediately struck by the sound. When my daughter walks in hers, they make a cute little flick-flick sound. When I wear mine, it’s thwack-thwack.
I’ve noticed that some women with small feet seem proud–as if they’re somehow responsible for the diminutive size of their feet. For ages, women have been cramming their feet into tiny, uncomfortable shoes, perhaps believing it makes them look smaller and more feminine. Fairy tales have done their part to perpetuate the belief that small is superior. Would life be different for us big-footed women if Prince Charming would’ve had to search for the woman whose foot was BIG enough to fit the glass slipper?
But my day is coming. In fact, I’m just ahead of my time. Recent surveys have shown that feet are getting larger, up a full size in the past 20 years. In 1987, only 11 percent of women wore a size 9 or bigger. It’s now up to 37 percent.
I wonder if anyone’s done a survey on ugly.
