Cold Feet:
Always one to try new things, I’m pretty sure I must have been on crack this morning when I ran out into the snow barefooted. The thought of doing so had probably come to mind in those surreal moments between sleep and waking. I imagined that the experience would be something akin to the refreshingly earthy feel of green grass beaneath one’s barefeet.
Right then, right there, I rolled out of bed, and ran straight out the front door. Down the steps, past the car, round the corner, over the sidegate, along the walkway, plowing my way right into the centre of the snow-covered garden; prancing around in the 10” deep snow for several seconds, like a little boy running through the waves lapping the shore at the seaside… Huge mistake!!! Suffering a delayed reaction of sorts (probably because I was still half-asleep), it was good while (10-15 seconds) before I felt the sharp bursts of pain surge forth from my feet.
With about the agility and balance of a labotimized 3-legged dog suffering from a two-week-old ear infection, and dragging a inmate’s ball and chain, I swung round, stumbled out of the garden, hobbled along the walkway, through the sidegate, round the corner, past the car, up the stairs, and crawled back inside. Only after minutes of vigorous massage did the crushing pains in my poor, wet feet subside — reduced to a dull throb, — and the blood flow return.
Genius? Maybe. Common sense? None.
