Feeling the overwhelming urge to write in English, I surrender to this itch sensible and righteous desire. Lo and behold.

Few weeks ago during the medical inspection I was told that I have flat feet. I felt scandalized, cause flat-foot was something I would never suspect myself of. My thoughts have kept lingering round this subject ever since.

So yesterday I bought myself orthopedic insoles. You know, those with bulges meant to keep arches in a proper position. They suit everyone with size 37 and have no contra-indications (as it is written on the wrapping).

And geez, either I’m way too flat-footed, or they seriously messed up during the production of those.Some people seem to have no idea of a human foot. It’s ok as far as they don’t devote themselves to production of orthopedic insoles. But if they do – it’s a disaster.

It feels like I’m that damned Mermaid, making my way silently (ok, not THAT silently) through a sequence of body and mind anguish. I don’t walk anymore, you see? I move myself from one location to another without diverging from the route.

At the moment it’s like “Say NO to flat-foot. Say YES to clubfoot.”

I guess either my feet accustom themselves to the new highly unnatural curve. Or they trample down those worrisome bulges. This city is too small for the two of us. Mwahaha.

Whatever. I’ll simply limp to perfection. Yep.