Catherine's brain: Hey, right foot, why have you decided to hurt for a week straight? Is something going on that we need to know about?
Catherine's Right Foot: We're about to turn 45 next month. We're protesting.
Brain: Ummmm, this is highly inconvenient.
Right Foot: So is turning 45.
Brain: Right Foot, please work with me here. I've tried wrapping, resting. We need to be able to walk! I'm about to drag us all off to the doctor if you don't take care of this problem on your own.
Right Foot: So, it's up to me? Well, you aren't exactly a light bag of bones to drag around these days.
Brain: Point taken. However, my exercise of choice is walking and we can't walk while you hurt like this!
Right Foot: Harrrrumph! Blame it all on the feet. We've been the hard workers for 45 years, carrying you up and down stairs (do you remember Charity Hospital? We do!), carrying you during those pregnancies, keeping you upright till all hours of the night. Well, I'm done. I want out of my contract.
Brain: (Deep sigh) Why are you being such a problem? Left foot? What do you have to say about all this?
Left Foot: Who, me? Ummm, I don’t have anything to say. I’m pretty happy. Just keep wearing those shoes with the cushions and I’ve got no troubles. Although some sparkly nail polish might be nice!
Brain: Right foot, Left Foot doesn’t seem to be having issues. There’s no way for me to let you out of your contract. However, if things do not improve soon, I will not hesitate to visit our family doctor.
Right Foot: So?
Brain: She’s likely to recommend exercises and/or physical therapy, neither of which you are crazy about. And if those don’t work, she might send us to a specialist who could recommend injections.
Right Foot: Needles?! In me?!! Perish the thought!!!
Brain: Right. You share needle phobia with the rest of us. I’m already overloaded with anxiety from the Head about the upcoming Botox injections.
Right Foot: Oh, yeah. I feel bad for the poor head. 30 something injections. I’m not interested in any fancy exercises and certainly not any injections into me, so maybe I’ll see what I can do.
Brain: Much better attitude. We turn 45 next month. It’s not the end of the world. We can expect some usual wear and tear on joints, etc., but there is no need for an all-out protest. It doesn’t do anyone any good. I’ll go see if I can find some sparkly nail polish for you feet – maybe that will help you feel a bit better.
Left Foot: Oooooh, yes!! Blue, please!!
Right Foot: Sparkly nail polish?! What are we? Barbie?!
Brain: Sheesh! I think I need a daily visit with my counselor sometimes . . .