An Amazing Feet Of Strength

Life presents me with many nagging questions that deprive me of sleep and cause me to occupy countless hours with circular pondering. Why am I here? What is my purpose? Is there a god? Why am I graying on one side of my body more than the other? What is that thing on my lip?

One question, however, has proven excruciatingly befuddling:

How does one decide to become a podiatrist?

When I was a grammar school kid, every little boy wanted to be a fireman or a cop or a soldier or a baseball player or a race-car driver or an astronaut. Some of those little bastards were lying, though, because at least a couple of them clearly wanted to be podiatrists. Did they hang around the bunion pad aisle at the pharmacy, all dreamy-eyed and entranced with the thought of saving the world feet-first? In high school, I don’t even remember a table for podiatry at the career fair. Did the podiatrist want to be a chiropractor, but he got a B in anatomy?

My podiatry dilemma really hadn’t risen to a position of prominence on my list of ponderations until recently, when a podiatrist pronounced "weirdness" upon me because I’m a middle-aged, retired CPA who digs graves for fun, has long hair and travels by Harley rain or shine.

For chrissake, he looks at feet all day.

Apparently weirdness comes in many flavors. My particular flavor must be in high demand. When a weird-ass longhaired CPA gravedigger rumbles down the road on his Harley, kids run out to the curb and wave, whoop and holler at him. Except the kid in the bunion pad aisle at the pharmacy. I don’t think kids run to the curb and wave when a podiatrist drives by in his minivan. Except the kid in the bunion pad aisle at the pharmacy. Even podiatrists are drawn to my brand of weirdness, gauging by the number of them who throw a chubby pink leg over a Harley every sunny weekend day and try to forget they are podiatrists. Except the podiatrist who still spends Saturday in the bunion pad aisle at the pharmacy, thanking Dr. Scholl for a lifetime filled with dreams come true.

Are there any astronauts who want to attend podiatry fantasy camp?

Somebody please tell me - just how does one decide to become a podiatrist? I gotta get some sleep.