Today’s writing prompt asks about what our favorite part of us is.
For years, the running joke in my family was about my “perfect feet.” I have no idea how it even started but I know it started when I was young–maybe a teenager? It kind of sounds like a teenage thing.
I sort of recall some discussion about certain traits that were passed down through my father’s side of the family that showed up in the feet that I didn’t have.
And my poor mother was always breaking toes–which at that point I wasn’t doing–so I hadn’t mangled up my feet that way.
Therefore I concluded that my feet (as opposed to the rest of my angsty teenage self) were perfect.
And you know, even though I have gone on to break toes, feet, and ankles (I would say as payback for my smug teenage self, except that I probably just inherited the same “rushing” gene that caused my Mom to do it. Or maybe there’s a clumsy gene. Don’t think they have this whole DNA thing figured out yet), I would say that my feet are still probably one of my favorite parts.