Too big for your boots

Two things that never stop growing are your ears and your nose. Apparently. That’s why old people have enormous conks and ears, despite pictures from the olden days showing only people with normal shaped faces. I’m not sure how much to believe this. There may be some documentary evidence to suggest that young people a long time ago didn’t have enormous noses, but it’s just as likely that all the decently proportioned people in those days were wiped out by giant-nostrilled Morlocks. Wherever you hid, they’d be able to sniff you out.

I was distraught to find this morning that even if my nose and ears haven’t got biggerer, my feet have. Or my shoes have shrunk. Either way, the Adidas Barricades I bought in 2008 and used twice no longer fit me.

This is a rank injustice. As a child, I wore shoes without complaint for four or five years, until my mother was embarassed in a shoe shop to find that I no longer took size 1s. To have shoes that are unviable long after I should have stopped growing is ridiculous.

I began to worry, as I skipped around the tennis court in my constricting footwear, that there was something I’d done to bring this upon me. Was it the weather in Singapore, making my feet swell? Was it all that marathon running, the repetitive impacts gradually widening and lengthening my feet? (In which case, when will it end? Will my feet continue to expand until I never blow over in a gale, but can never get automatic doors to open?)

I went home, my mood gradually eroding into full-on rage, a product of the grey skies, of too much coffee, of my painfully constricted feet. There was a simple cure for this: I spent all afternoon at the pub, drinking Guinness and gin and tonics, and then went home both early (before ten p.m.) and late (after seven hours of drinking). It put my mind at ease, although I don’t think any of that booze shrank my feet.

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