There will be no Friday night imbibing for me this week. This past Wednesday, I had the audacity to wear a pair of Cute Shoes. The Cute Shoes had never been unkind to me before Wednesday. We'd always gotten along swimmingly. They even accompanied me to Teatro ZinZanni. We're well acquainted. But, Wednesday, I must have pissed them off. By midday, the fifth little piggy on my left foot had a water blister that looked like an extra toe.
I switched back to my standard summer footwear of flip flops and slip on tennies, hoping to give the blister friction-less moments to heal. But, the damage was done and by this evening, I had faint red stripes running up the top of my foot and an angry looking purple toe.
Three hours after schlepping myself over to the acute care center at the local hospital, I am the recipient one equine-sized shot of antibiotics, instructions to keep my foot elevated for the next three days, a prescription for a 10-day course of 4/day oral antibiotics and no cocktails for Friday night (or any night for the next 10+ days). This sucks butt.