Author’s Note: A sunset got tangled in street cables above the lamps. Not a postcard-worthy view, but perhaps even more beautiful. What’s the point of faraway wonders before exploring your own backyard?
Don’t judge the book by the cover. And don’t judge people by… their feet!
Let me tell you a story about one bone that invaded many lives (including mine), with one heck of an attitude—almost literally.
A bunion. Not a cute name for not a cute bone. Apparently, it’s very common among women. And, with age, it becomes more pronounced—in medical terms. But in plain English: it’s annoying and ugly.
Unlike the onion, you can’t peel off its layers. But it sure can make you cry! Bunion with a B for the Brute—a Brutal Bone! Not a B for “Beautiful.” Rather, a Bitch, relentless and rebellious, that often takes center stage in my life.
When it first peeked years ago, I thought it was a sixth toe about to hatch. Yet, many Easters went by and still no ugly ducklings—just five toes and one fat ‘plumpy’ egg.
So why not cover it with shoes?
But what type of footwear can accommodate this deformation? Thought of that?
Summers are terrible: a season of Toezillas storming in the sun. Forget flip-flops on the beach. It’s like Mount Toeverest on full display. Massive and entirely unapologetic. Unconquerable.
Strappy sandals are even worse because bunions always find a way to poke through the straps. They’re like little rhinoceroses, busting out of cages through the bars, claiming their freedom.
Shoe shopping is a disaster. Nothing fits! It’s not like I’m picky—Ms. Bunion is! She deprives me of stylish choices! Constantly interfering and always getting her way. Flats? If the cut isn’t deep enough, Everest gets sliced by the edge. Pointy shoes? It’s like walking in a funnel. I’d rather stick my foot in a blender.
And don’t get me started on the fancy devices promising miracles. The commercials scream: “correct alignment,” “overnight relief,” and “back to beautiful feet.” Lies! I’ve tried them all. I’ve imprisoned my foot into toe spreaders, medieval-looking separators, nighttime braces that make you stomp like Frankenstein on heels. I even bought something called a “bunion boot” once. It looked like a snow tire attached for punishment.
I remember standing on a beach last summer, when my friend casually glanced at my foot and said, “You’ve got one of those big bones. My mom had that.” I laughed it off saying, “Yup, I do. I can’t do anything about it.”
And that’s when the story flipped.
I have no control over my anatomy, but I have the mind-power to decide how I feel about it.
I’m done feeling embarrassed! I’ve decided to give my bunion the spotlight it demands. I mean, it’s been fighting for attention for years, right?
Why do we try so hard to hide something that clearly wants to stand out? Maybe that bone was never meant to be covered. What if it’s not a deformity—but a declaration?
In ancient Greece, a high forehead was associated with wisdom and intelligence. Large ears were believed to signify wisdom and attentiveness. In some East Asian cultures, elongated earlobes are considered a sign of longevity and good fortune. A prominent nose has been linked to strength of character and leadership, especially in Roman and Greek depictions of emperors and gods. In China, women bound their feet to make them smaller because that was considered beautiful. A long neck symbolized elegance in African cultures. Thick lips indicated sensuality and fertility, especially if you were channeling your inner goddess. And if your second toe was longer than your big toe, congratulations—you were born a leader.
For centuries, people found meaning in every curve, dip, and dimple of the human body. But somehow, the bunion has been left out. No legends… or at least I haven’t found any. Why? Because it was meant for embarrassment and discomfort? No, because nobody had assigned it a magical meaning.
What if the bunion is not a flaw—but a secret sign? A mark of resilience or a fighting spirit? If this bone can endure years of bad shoes, public toe-shaming, and test gadgets from late-night infomercials, it’s clearly not just a bone—it’s a warrior!
I’m calling it the “Woman who can walk through fire.” It’s time the bunion had its myth. Beauty has always been subjective—a performance.
So the next time you notice someone stare, just confidently say, “Yeah, I’ve got a superpower.” Because you do, so own it—with style, sass, and just a hint of bad-ass Toezilla.
Wolverine Lily 