Feet

For quite some time now, I have been trying to appear not American here. What I mean by this is that I don't want to look like the wussy American who can't get along without her cell phone, her car, or her Cosmo. (Two out of three ain't bad... I needed that Cosmo, man.) So I have been frolicking about walking everywhere. I would buy loads of stuff that I needed to start up my flat and would refuse to get a taxi ("Bah, I can walk... I'm used to this!"), would wander up the hilly distance just to see the scenery, and walk to the nearby flat office instead of calling because "it's just round the corner!" Well, guess what. I'm American and my feet are killing me.

I have been up and down every hill, street, trail and store for the past week and I have blisters, my calves hurt, and I just might call a taxi to go to church, which is about four blocks away. Call me a wuss, but I mean, honestly... is it my fault that I grew up in a place where it was nearly impossible not to have car?? Granted, I may have had my lazy times at Valpo, like when Kimmie drove me to class... in Neils... from Scheele. I mean, she was already leaving anyway!! And it was snowing! But I certainly am paying for those snide years of non-walking now. I will deny it to everyone I meet here, saying I hadn't even really noticed the need for extra walking, but I currently am debating putting bandaids on my legs where my toothbrush holder cut me through the bag I was carrying for 20 blocks.

So sue me. So I grew up in America, land of opportunity, freedom, and a freaking car ride to the store.