It has recently been revealed to me that I have bigger feet than my male roommate. I wish I could say this is the first time this has happened, but that would make a liar. And I am many things; a riveting writer, a fantastic driver, friend to all, but I am NOT a liar. It is no surprise to me that I have big feet. It’s a reality I have been living with for years. And unlike most disproportional body parts that children grow into through the years, my feet have been large at every stage. My hands are also large, I can palm a basketball (if you don’t understand this then you should be even more impressed than if you do understand) God, if I was a guy I would have a biiiiiiig… selection of shoes because I have a normal sized foot for a male.
The worst thing about having big feet is the fact (okay, maybe not so much a fact but the belief I cant seem to shake) that it is weird and not at all cute to have the same sized feet as a boy. Especially a boy that you are interested in. I have had to rule out a lot of great date ideas because of my feet. Anything that involves me voluntarily revealing my shoe size is out. See ya, ice-skating, skiing, snowboarding, and his and her pedicures.
I will go to great lengths to keep my foot size a mystery. In college, my sorority had a roller skating date dash and I had to meticulously plan out a casual way to get away from my date and order both of our skates alone, a plan I was especially thankful for when it turned out we were the same size. While he never found out, unless he reads this blog, embarrassment in that situation was not totally avoided. I did have to tell the roller rink employee my shoe size. He reacted normally and emotionless but I can’t be sure that he did not burst into hysterics in the roller rink employee break room later. Trying to explain the freak-show-like shoe size that accompanied an otherwise very normal looking girl between heaves of laughter.
With careful planning I can make some foot-related activities work. But bowling is just out of the question. Having a foolproof way of getting my shoes alone means nothing when the size is telegraphed on the back of each shoe for the world to see. And of course bowling just haaassss to be the only sport where spectators watch from behind.
Someone needs to step up and represent women like me. I’m going to establish a community called WWBAF: Women With Big Ass Feet. And as the spokesperson, I will be a supporter and advocate for shoes that can be passed off as unisex (a special shout out to TOMS for making progress in this field) and stricter security systems at Nordstrom Rack to ensure that shoes are in the correct area. If I have to lunge at another cute wedge shoe only to find it’s 3 sizes too small, and in the wrong section, WWBAF (I) will start a riot.
Good thing I never actually revealed my shoe size in this post and left it to your imagination. Now you all probably think I have size 14. Or is it 12? OR IS IT BOTH? I can tell you accurately it is not both. But like many women in Hollywood who lie about their age, I will always, always lie about my shoe size. Except to the employees at roller rinks, because there is nothing worse than skating in discomfort.
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