I don’t have what it takes to rock these size 12’s. I don’t have the energy to drag them beneath me day in and day out. They may hold me up, but today, they’re bringing me down. Clown feet. Water skis. Surely I must play for the WNBA. But I don’t. These clunkers of mine give me balance and insecurity, stability and vulnerability. Please don’t look down, my eyes are up here. If I curl my toes, they’re a 10. Is food binding still possible? I know it’s bad for you, but imagine the possibilities…