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Byline: Betsy Berne
As my feet settle into middle age, their unfortunate condition is such that public exposure is no longer an option. No more dainty peep-toe sandals, no slinky barely there stilettos, not even an innocent pair of flip-flops shall grace my unsightly dogs, with their various bumps, bony protrusions, finger-like appendages (otherwise referred to as toes), and_
. . . well, my heels are beginning to resemble hooves. I first donned a pair of stilettos in my 30s, by which time their silhouette already appeared somewhat Cubist-inspired, so I can't fault this perhaps unfairly maligned practice. It's possible some blame could be attached to the ...