We’d been together years when she suddenly decided her feet had to be perfect.
We’re talking a weekly pedicure to start with, and the application of the finest nail polish money can buy.
We’re talking ointments, creams, balms, special socks, special shoes, inserts.
And this, let’s not forget, from a woman who’d smoked forty fags a day for thirty years and refused to eat
vegetables as a point of principle!
I knew something was wrong - her feet were the giveaway.
Main image from pexels by Min An
Wayne Dean-Richards works with short stories and the novel. His work has been published in magazines and anthologies in the UK and the US. Some of that work can be found in his collection Cuts, available here
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