She painted her toenails last night. Pale, pale, pale pink. So pale that it looks like silver with all the grey bleached out of it. You wouldn't notice if it didn't catch the light now and then. She lotioned her feet, admiring their inherent pinkness. Aloe for extra moisture and then wrapped up safely in socks. She went to bed, comfortably aware of her soft, babied feet. Work, the next day, in borderline uncomfortable heels, closed toes, stockings. A quick run in the evening (it was a beautiful day), cotton socks, clunky keds. A walk around to her neighbour's for a chat and a cup of tea (hadn't seen him in a while), stuffy little black slip-ons from NY&C. But all day, underneath it all, she could feel her feet smiling.
It's what's inside that matters.