Fuckles for my feet

Reader, I have no fuckles.

No, I didn't know what they were either. Right, take your sock off, curl your toes. Now look beneath them, sort of just below where the toe meets the foot on the topside of the foot (not actually underneath your feet). Do you have a sort of knuckle? Well goody for you. That is a fuckle. A foot-knuckle.

Until I realised I don't have them, I didn't know everyone else did. I was made aware by The Lad who was talking about how beautiful his own feet are (they're not that amazing, he's just got a case of foot vanity) and comparing them to mine. He's quite proud of his feet and got a bit annoyed when I couldn't see what was so jaw-droppingly gorgeous about them, so pointed out that I have strange, vaguely webbed feet lacking in (you guessed it Reader) fuckles. Now, most of this is just plain cruelty and I imagine, a touch of hurt foot pride, on the Lad's front. But I am sorry to say that actually he is quite right. You see Reader, my feet are really very odd. I'm a bit of a flower child, and so walk around barefoot as much as I possibly can, therefore the soles of my feet aren't all lovely and soft and feminine like most girls (and The Lad's incidentally) but rather hard like good quality leather, and usually slightly green from grass stains. They're ridiculously smooth and flat (possibly one of the reasons why I got kicked out of ballet at the tender age of 5) and my index and middle toes on both feet are slightly (just a teeny weeny bit) webbed together, which I always thought was a bit sweet and mermaidy, but is apparently more monkey-alien. My index toes are also longer than my big toes and my toenails are inevitably coated in chipped mad nail polish colours.

Poor feet. Oh well, I like them! They're good feet. They may be clumsy and look like some kind of monkey/frog hybrid's feet, but they're mine and they work pretty well!

In other news reader, I am considering taking up Vlogging. Which for you non cool kids, means video blogging. It looks like fun, I am mainly considering it because I have seen some very amusing vlogs recently. However, the thought of myself on camera just being myself and not a character does not really appeal. And I can't edit for poop. Which is a shame really. Maybe I should get The Lad to train in the ways of filming and editing and he can be my one man slave-crew. I could pay him in pokemon cards!

What else has been going on? Hum....? Well I have a job interview tomorrow, so keep your fingers crossed for me! I may even tidy my room in the morning, just to make myself feel businessy and organised. Oooh, and my little brother turning 18 on friday! I can't believe it, he's so much younger than I was at that age. I used to go clubbing up London every week when I was 17, we used to photocopy our passports and then photoshop the bit with our dates of birth on. I'm not convinced he's ever actually been to a proper club...But then boys do mature 3 years later than girls. Plus, he's just got a proper girlfriend. Which, let's face it, I didn't achieve till quite a bit later. I would love to say that I was casting my wild oats, but I was busy making them into cookies and being scared of most boys till I went off to uni (and even then I was no great shakes at the dating game, for a very long time I persistently ignored the very nice single boys that got crushes on me, and instead followed with puppy like devotion the difficult, taken boys who'd pat me on the head like you would with a devoted toddler. Eventually I got a bit bored of being the only one not getting to have kisses in the student union and spending my evenings pining and jumped The Lad. Quite literally.)

Actually, I was awful at the brother's age with my love life. Mainly because back then I didn't know any boys. And when I went to uni, I did really cringe things like get drunk and be sick on their shoes if I liked them (as happened at one notorious house party. Then I sat in the mud and demanded that one of my friends sing to me. I am a fun drunk.). I was however, quite good at flirting. In fact, I had a bit of a reputation for it. Now I only get to use my skills if I'm trying to get a free drink from the bar staff on a night out or get into a pub in Camden on a friday night with no id (I look like a 17 year old). The Lad finds it quite amusing when I try to flirt with him, and he ends up winding me up. I usually end up sulking in these instances, and have to be coaxed into a better mood with small bits of chocolate and compliments.

Right, on that tangent, I'll be off to watch an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and eat toast in bed. Nom nom nom.
Night night Reader!
Ash
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