Barefoot with the Doctor . . .

Not what you’re  thinking,  I wasn’t even with a podiatrist. If you watch  television, you have no doubt seen the ads for – Dr. Scholl’s Comfort Orthotics Inserts. Now, I don’t have any problems, but if walking on some type of comfort gel will put more oomph in my step, well why not. Besides, I was more interested in that Big Blue machine. Just a little techie now and then, know what I mean?


Yesterday, Big  Blue was right there in my local WalMart. Where had he been hiding, or was he just installed . . . all bright and shiny? No matter, I was up for it. Game on. I looked at the giant feet imprinted on the touch pad, big toe and all. Did I really want to do this? Okay, I unstrapped my sandals, looked around to see if anyone was watching. Just a guy in the corner on the blood pressure machine getting his arm squeezed to the point of, well it can be a tad uncomfortable. Sandals

I was feeling a little foolish, the doc didn’t even offer a wipe for my tootsies when Big Blue was finished mapping my feet.  How many people had stepped on Big Blue, sans shoes and socks. Ugg. Big Blue was not a self-cleaning kind of guy.  All kinds of diseases could be lurking. Fungus among us, and . . . foot.jpg

I took the plunge, gingerly as I pushed my cart to the side. Stepping into the giant feet, I hit the ‘start mapping sequence, I knew once it began I had to stay the course. Then I looked and noticed my purse was in my cart, someone could steal it, or my cell. What to do, how could I disappoint Big Blue, could I track down the thief? Too much thinking, just be alert.

Big Blue kept ordering me to do things, things I was’t always comfortable doing. Touch, touch and touch Big Blue once more. He became demanding, put your right foot in, left foot out. Lean forward, step to the side. It was all happening too fast. footmapping-dr-schollsI wanted the relationship with feet to machine to end. Big Blue kept telling me to be patient, the mapping was almost done. Then, out of the blue, I had my answer. I was too frazzled to remember the number I needed, Big Blue wouldn’t wait, he rebooted. My Hokey Pokey Dance with Big BLue was over.

Much to my disappointment, I looked at the stacks of waiting inserts. Then, just when I was upset with myself for not remembering the number, I saw the price of the inserts! A whooping $49.99!  Saved. Slipped back into my sandals, grabbed my cart and decided that Big Blue was just another snake oil salesman, in disguise. 100


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