Friday, November 10, 2006

On The Run

Daytime television’s royal couple—Luke and Laura—have been re-united on “General Hospital” and are preparing for another sweeps-friendly wedding on the 25th anniversary of their original nuptials.

Genie Francis spent the last four years in a stress-induced psychotic trance (I mean her character, not the actress) and awoke to discover that the producers still don’t know how to style her hair. Bangs, people, and some layers too. It’s. Not. That. Complicated.

I loved Luke and Laura—who started the whole rapist-with-a-heart-of-gold trend in soap operas—but I have grown bitter toward them over the years. You see, it’s because of these two that I can’t wear high heels.

For those of you who don’t recall, L&L were once star-crossed lovers—she was married to the nasty Scotty Baldwin, he was engaged to mob daughter Jennifer Smith (whose acting alone was criminal). My own memory’s a little fuzzy here, but I think Scotty knocked Luke off a yacht, everyone thought Luke had drowned, Laura found him washed up on the docks and the two went “on the run.” (“On the run” is now one of daytime’s more hackneyed plot twists. Try to work this phrase into your conversation. You can’t. Because it doesn’t happen in real life anymore than men sitting around talking to other men about their relationships.)

Anyhoo, these developments were HUGE. And they happened sometime over summer vacation, during July or August. My sister and I were hanging out at her friend Michelle’s when we realized it was 3 o’clock, the GH bewitching hour. The previous day we had seen Luke’s hand emerge from the water to grab an unsuspecting Laura’s ankle. My god, what would happen next?! We raced toward the television. And amidst all this frenzy, I failed to notice the nearly imperceptible half-inch step between Michelle’s kitchen and family room. I whacked the big toe on my left foot.

Like a champ, I gutted it out through the episode—Luke lives!—and waited until I got home to ice and tape the toe. I thought it was “jammed.” Only years later did I learn I had actually broken the little piggy.

The toe didn’t heal particularly well and to this day doesn’t bend. I realize that seems like a trivial matter. It’s not like I type with my toes or hold utensils with my toes or click the remote with my toes. But they sort of come in handy for walking.

Next time you’re out pounding the pavement, notice how with every step you take your weight shifts from the back of the foot to the ball to the toes. When the toes don’t bend, the weight stays on the ball. High heels put even more pressure on this part of the foot—it feels like someone’s standing underneath the sidewalk, hitting my foot with a sledgehammer from below, every time my sole meets the concrete. So I don’t wear heels.

And I know I should blame Michelle—or the construction workers who built the ridiculous non-step—for this tragedy, but I choose to carry a grudge against Luke and Laura. Damn them and their intriguing romance.

Now L&L are back and I have no suitable plan for revenge although frankly these people have proven themselves impervious to drowning, freezing, contagious pathogens and pretty much every other form of mayhem I could devise. Except, it would seem, bad hair days. So scratch what I said before about bangs and layers. Those limp locks are perfect just the way they are.


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