For the first time in my life, I suddenly have reptile feet.
Whenever the DH or I are looking particularly skanky in this house, we say to the other: "Let me know if my glamour gets you down".
Today is one of those days. But thank heavens, it isn’t visible – I am dealing with, for the first time in my life, dry, cracked heels.
I’m using the tried and tested method of soaking your feet, using a scrub (mine’s just sugar and olive oil, with a bit of lavender oil added) slathering your feet in footcream, then Vaseline, putting a pair of plastic bags on them and then big furry socks. It doesn’t actually look too bad, and over the course of a morning, it works wonders, but it does feel horribly squelchy.
It is galling, as you get older, to keep finding bits of yourself going wrong. My sister reports that it’s even worse after 60. Until now I had been remarkably untroubled by dry feet but suddenly, all those ads about dry, cracked heels make sense – my heels have turned into two crocodilely reptile paws that feel like they don’t belong to me.
Another problem that has suddenly occurred is that my fingernails, which are becoming increasingly ridged, have also become increasingly brittle. The other week, my thumbnail split right down into the quick, which was both painful and a bit sick-making, and of course, you don’t realise quite how many times a day you use your thumb until it’s sudeenly out of commission. I had to mend the nail with nail varnish and tissue paper, then, irritatingly, paint the rest of my nails to match. Luckily, I had in one of those 1-euro Yves Rocher nail polishs in the house.
Ines de la Fressange, I notice, recommends Dior apricot nail cream, to be rubbed into the cuticles at night, so I will check it out. Something needs to improve them. With any luck, it might work on my heels as well…