How it happened? I’m not sure. But I blame South Beach. Yes, I blame the entire southernmost area of the City of Miami Beach for its ridiculous double standard when it comes to women’s footwear.
An evening out in non-sensible shoes created several small, but manageable, blisters on my foot. And the next morning I went for a swim in the ocean, as I erroneously thought it was a wonderful way to cure a hangover and disinfect my lesions.This part of the story I blame on my grandmother for convincing me that the ocean cures everything from a sinus infection to an ingrown toenail. And maybe it did in her day.
But this was a new day. A day when instead of waking up with a fully functioning, back-to-normal foot, it was an oddly swollen and warm-out-of-the-microwave foot. It also happened to be the day when this news story broke:
No. I was not in Sarasota. And no, I do not like the taste or texture of oysters. But yes, I am a hypochondriac. And so to the urgent care I went.
After a tetanus shot, a foot scrub (not the spa kind), a lesson in walking with crutches and the first course of pain meds and antibiotics, I felt better about my chances of surviving this thing.
The shoes, on the other hand, are serving a life sentence in the back of my closet for attempted murder.
Mari de Armas 
Pobrecita! This wouldn’t have happened if you had been born a man.
I suppose I would have other types of problems as a man.
Yea! Like shaving every bloody day!