Welcome!
I'm Vesla!
If you’ve landed here, it’s because you’re a naturally curious person, a hobbyist podiatrist, or just deeply invested in the well-being of strangers feet (which I’m not interested in unpacking further).
Regardless of how you ended up here, what you are ultimately seeking is an answer for why I’m wearing two boots very clearly not made for walking. To that end, here are some explanations; please choose the one that you find will make a more satisfying anecdote for your group chats.
Explanation 1: I’ve been chasing my dream on the rodeo circuit for years, aiming to be the premier rodeo clown in this great nation of ours. A few months ago in Lubbock, Texas, I was attempting to distract a particularly cantankerous bull who’d recently dislodged a rider (my long lost twin, but that’s another story entirely). As I moved about with the grace and wit of Harpo Marx, delighting the crowd in a manner they will only experience once in a lifetime, I neglected to notice my proximity to the edge of the arena. Pinned between a hard charging bull and the fence, I leapt over it and onto the judges table, where I promptly broke both my feet.
Explanation 3: My friend’s mom (like all of our friends mom’s) has recently made pickleball her whole personality. Out of support and love for my friend, I was cheering said mom on in a local tournament and found myself craving a bit of excitement. There were a few pillars nearby, and as an avid climber, I shimmied up one real quick under the watchful eye of my long lost twin (another story entirely). I dropped down to the ground—maybe 2-3ft—and felt the most excruciating pain of my entire life. Because the hospital system in this country is for profit and ultimately hot garbage, my two broken feet were misdiagnosed for FOUR MONTHS. Having now established that I do indeed have two broken feet, I get the distinct pleasure of staying off of them for two months, at which point the doctors “will see” (what they will see remains an open question), leaving me to wonder if Big Dairy was on to something after all about cow milk making for stronger bones and having to consider rearranging my entire personality in response.
Explanation 2: I’m an aspiring UFC fighter widely considered to be the best prospect since Rowdy Ronda Rousey, with aspirations of one day knocking the lights out of Amanda Nunes. During a recent training session, I attempted a double high-kick (the likes of which others have called impossible and I’ve seen as merely difficult), which I landed with aplomb on the face of my long lost twin and training partner (another story entirely, rest assured she’s fine). Upon landing, the force of my kick was so magnificent it broke both of my feet.