Comfort in a “small” world

My feet are ample. That’s a nice way to put it. They are a sturdy base, a firm under-standing, an anchor in the storm, and a wonderment to behold. Of course, I haven’t always felt this way. I didn’t like my feet as a girl. By the time I was eleven, I’d outgrown mother’s shoes, could easily fit in my dad’s, and was destined to never find a man because my grandmother, who wore a size five, said that the first thing my grandfather noticed about her was her dainty little feet. 

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