My thighs hate me. They also hate you, your family, and your cat. My thighs are screaming incoherent things in a public setting. They’re protesting outside your house, holding up signs that say “GOD HATES STAIRS” and “DOWN WITH SOCIALISM (NOT STAIRS)” and “SOME RANDOM MISSPELLED CRAP ABOUT MORTGAGING CHILDREN AND ALSO ELEVATORS”. My thighs are terrible, terrible people who hate equal rights and health care. My thighs make me angry and fill me with hopeless rage at their sheer ignorance. My thighs make humanity look bad.

My feet, however, love everyone. They want equal rights and health care for all; peace and love and all that good stuff.

(I swear to god I have a point – read just a little further)

I wore my gorgeous new shoes to work yesterday, and they were awesome. What was NOT awesome was the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation of my building – I had to walk down 16 flights of concrete stairs. I hate stairs at the best of times; I get crazy vertigo and would have burnt to a crisp had this been a real emergency and not just a false alarm on account of either a) my incredible slowness at going down steep flights of stairs, or b) the fact that I had tripped somewhere around floor 11 and tumbled down to floor 9 and am lying in a bleeding wreck in the corner. I did make it all the way downstairs, but not without a couple of near misses – getting dizzy while trying to hurry is not a good idea, and I do not recommend it at all.

So, my thighs are fucking KILLING me today. They hurt in places I did not know existed, and they are protesting my very existence with ridiculous signage and are probably a fan of Palin (those fucking idiot thighs). That sucks. BUT! I am happy – no, delighted – that my feet did not hurt. I wore brand new shoes yesterday, with a friggin’ HEEL (albeit a tiny one); had to walk down 16 flights of stairs and all over the damn place, and I was NOT curled up in a ball wishing I could take an axe to my feet to stop the pain. This is nothing short of a miracle, and if my thighs didn’t hurt so much I would be doing a dance of sheer joy. It’s so WEIRD to not be in heaping gobs of foot pain. I could get used to this!

My thighs just kicked me and called me a whore.