My favorite parts of my body, from an aesthetic viewpoint, are my feet and ankles. They are shapely and delicate, and the color of fine porcelain. I am an 18th century gentleman’s wet dream–as fair of ankle as they come.
Or at least I was. Then came Dundee, a city whose public transporation system is only slightly less complicated than separating salt out of a bag of salt and sugar. With Dundee came The Hill. The ten miles or more a week that I walk leave blisters, which become calluses, which peel off, leaving my lovely feet cracked and peely and decidedly not attractive.
I should strive to be vain about a body part that is less functional: perhaps my earlobes, or maybe appendix.
On the other hand, perhaps my new relationship with the buses in Dundee (a necessity because of strained extensor tendons in my left foot, a souvenier of The Hill) will allow my feet will return to their former glory.