Okay, we have to talk about ankles. Specifically, we have to talk about my ankles. My currently swollen ankles. Swollen and fat. The way your grandmother was always going on about hers being swollen and fat.
Yes, my typically-pretty little feet, with their pleasing shape and puff-less lines have gone all rouge. "They done swole up on me!" to put it the way I heard one woman describe it, one time. I laughed at her.
I'm not laughing anymore.
This evening, deciding my too-many-hours-in-front-of-the-computer design stretch had gone on for long enough, I thought a refreshing shower was in order. As I emerged, all clean and fresh, ready to resume my hunched position for still more hours of design glee, I looked down. First I admired my recently-pedicured toenails. Red in February. How decadent! Perfectly wonderful! Then my eyes moved up a bit. Whaaaaa?
I thought of hormones, and while that could be the culprit, it's not like, as a woman, I haven't encountered these offenders before. So what then? Age. It must be age. This is the year I turned 41. (My fingers typed 31 twice before I could get them to type it correctly.) Is it true, then? That while 40 is the new 30, and all that jazz (read my thus-far lone, age-related rant over here,) apparently it's also true that around now, things start to go a little sour. I'll spare you the list of noticeable changes in my world.
But I can't spare the mention of these ankles. I'm telling my shame here, far and wide. Along with a little warning to those who may be feeling a little safe and content with your "well turned ankles," as mine have been called: Be Ye Not So Smug As I Was. Women in my family do not have narrow feet. I'll face it. Even my own nice feet aren't the slimmest around. But I'm most definitely accustomed to seeing a certain newly-discovered puffiness attached to the bodies of other women. Lovely women? Oh yes. Just people not called myself.
Not anymore. Only this had better be a phase. I'm thinking it surely won't stick around forever. I'll wake tomorrow morning and check, first thing, then the morning after that.
Still, whether it's a one-time-thing or some sort of new cyclical occurrence, I'm feeling a little nervous. It's as if my body has let me down, somehow. And now I don't trust it not to do something else. Sag a little here. Wrinkle a little there.
But I won't think about that just now. For now, maybe I'd better go do something useful. Like maybe elevate my fat little feet. It couldn't hurt, right?