Feet of Endurance

The weather was fan-freaking-tastic this weekend in Paris, so Pegs and I decided to enjoy it by having a picnic in Saint-Germain-en-Laye on Saturday. Unfortunately, neither of us anticipated that it would get so warm, and I found myself seriously overdressed for the occasion in a black long-sleeve shirt, sweater and jeans with no sunscreen and no hat. After about an hour of direct sun my face started to bear an uncanny resemblance to an overripe tomato, so we headed back home.

On Sunday morning I was determined to get back out there, so we elected to take a little stroll to the eastern part of the city and check out a couple of gardens that we hadn't seen yet. Not wanting to make the same mistake as Saturday, I opted for shorts and a light shirt, as well as a pair of flip-flops rather than shoes. Pegs insisted that I put on sunscreen and normal shoes or that I would be going alone. I responded that I was a grown man and could decide for myself what shoes I would wear. I also told her that I didn't want to put on sunscreen because I wanted to work on my base tan, which caused her to laugh so hard that the coffee she was drinking shot out of her nose and scalded my feet.

In the end, I compromised and put on the sunscreen but stood my ground on keeping the flip-flops. Pegs was right, of course; after a couple of hours I was willing to lop off my feet at the ankles just to stop the pain. Perhaps the only thing worse than the swollen blisters and weeping open sores between my toes was having to admit that Pegs was right. Notwithstanding the rumors to the contrary, I don't mind acknowledging when I'm wrong; I just hate that Pegs makes me wear the stupid dunce cap for the rest of the day.