Falling flat

I’m not the type of person to go around blaming my problems on other people, but sometimes I have to wonder if my grandfather didn’t sort of give me the short end of the stick in terms of genes.

I mean, sure, I got the fiery Italian thing (although I guess I should give a little credit for that to my Irish grandmother..) and the big hands thing (for a brief mental image of my grandfather, imagine a 6’3” Italian man threatening you with “the Big Five” if you misbehave. That’s just good parenting.), but for all the helpful things he passed down, most of them are trumped by this single negative: flat feet.

Which lead us to today’s life lesson:

Life lesson #81: Flat feet do not bode well for walking miles through Manhattan.

Don’t get me wrong, exploring my favorite city is in my top 15 favorite things to do. But there are times when I find myself wishing (shamefully) that I owned a pair of crocs. (Not the super ugly kind, this kind.)

But alas, I do not own them. And at that price, I probably won’t for…well…ever.

For now I’ll just have to suck it up, soak my aching feet, and embrace the fact that as long as I’m walking in NYC, there’s really not all that much to complain about.