See these stairs? They're going to feature in this story.

You know how I've been using that Soft Touch body butter from Lush? Last night I completed my nightly ritual of buttering up my hands. Now that I'm getting to bed at (mostly) decent hours I can actually have things like nightly rituals. I had to crack down after one too many mornings of waking up with all my lights on, wondering why I'm still wearing shoes.

So I got my hands all greased up and then noticed that the soles of my feet could use some attention--like they're so dry that they might just crack open at any second. So I figured that if it'll work on my hands then it couldn't hurt my feet. And I woke up this morning with soft, sweet-smelling hands and feet. I considered dancing around the house singing about how lovely I felt, but then I remembered that I didn't put anything magical on my teeth last night. It would kind of spoil the "I Feel Pretty" musical number if all the houseplants turned brown and died from my morning breath.

Only, people, it turns out that you don't want soft feet. Soft feet don't grip.

I learned this when I took one step down the stairs and felt my soft pretty foot slide right out from under me. I slid down the entire staircase on my butt (or, to be specific, my left butt) and could not use my soft soft feet to stop myself. As I slid, I prayed that I would not break a leg or crack a rib (my prayer sounded like this: "Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!!!"). When I finally came to a stop at the bottom and ascertained that I was in fact still in one functioning piece, I gave thanks for (1) carpeting, and (2) the extra padding I gained during the holidays. Then I put Neosporin on all the raw spots, hoping to encourage skin regeneration.

Stupid staircase.

Posted in: England