If you know me ( and if you read this: http://howtoskinnyacat.blogspot.com/2011/02/thanks-for-stomach-virus-my-dear-sweet.html then now you know more than you ever wanted to) you know I have been battling cankles. I hate cankles. They have reduced a once strong woman to tears every morning and naked sexy time date night for pretty much the last year. I have a giant stiletto-strappy- high heel sandal-dangerous- lady shoe collection in which I risk life and limb to strut in while playing Finger Eleven’s “Paralyzer” in my head . Life is a cat walk you know, but only when you can wear the right shoes!
My shoes are not so sexy with cankles…you know gross swelling that blends your ankle to your calf while stretching your skin and emotional stability to the brink of a nuclear melt down. My life. Every. Day. I get all butt hurt when I realize it’s another day I am reduced to flats or flip-flops because said cankles look like giant man chubbies in a too small condom when crammed into sky-high ankle strap stiletto weaponry. It’s also not ever acceptable (just ask Stacy London) to wear really sexy dresses with flip-flops; unless you are going to a hippy granola crunching drum fest in a secluded park. In that case, you only need a joint tucked into your hemp headband to wear with your flip-flops.
I feel pretty solid this Wednesday to be able to declare I have won the cankle battle. Since I stopped eating like a stuffed pig and started eating like I actually give a damn about my self- I have had zero instances of calling the suicide hotline because I can’t wear any pair of the fabulous magical hooker heels I mentioned above.