Painfully Stylish

My sister has this thing of expecting me to always notice her latest pedicure. Don’t ask me why she thinks I’d be interested in this, or how I’m supposed to notice – they all look the same to me. Maybe the shade of nail polish is a tad more plum-hued than last week’s mauve, but it barely registers. As far as I’m concerned, her feet perpetually look like they’ve just been to the beauty spa, so it’s not like there’s anything out of the ordinary to remark on.

What I would find remarkable is if she took herself to a podiatrist for once. I mean, she’s always dashing about in high heels with configurations of straps that set me right on edge, awaiting the inevitable day when she rolls her ankle. I’m not advocating that she get fitted for adult orthotics, but a mere nod to arch support wouldn’t go astray. Supportive footwear doesn’t have to mean ugly footwear, but I’m pretty sure they’re identical concepts in my sister’s book.

It’s like she’s so invested in the foot aesthetics that she’s completely overlooked foot and ankle health. Evidently, she doesn’t realise that the appearance of her feet would be best preserved in the long term by keeping them healthy – namely, not wearing flimsy high heels 24/7. I mean, does she think the look won’t be affected if she’s hobbling around with plantar fasciitis? I suppose she can just distract from the pain with a pedicure.

It’s really not my concern, at the end of the day. Who am I to worry about what my sister does with her feet? They’re hers to compromise as she sees fit. Besides, I’ve mentioned it to her before and she basically blew up at me, saying I shouldn’t be lecturing her given the size of the handbag I lug around. It must be wreaking havoc on my shoulders, she said.