Saturday March 5th will mark exactly three months since The Pedicure. No ordinary pedicure, this, but a full-fledged podiatric special, with surgical instruments, white towels and grown-up conversation. The nice man who performed the task was no newcomer to the profession nor to my feet, and this was my first sybaritic treat after returning home from the hospital.

Toronto in winter is either a slush pile or a cousin to Antarctica. Either way, one requires strong shoes, preferably boots with heavy-duty ridged soles, and either way, it’s a liability to have a foot infection of such severity that even putting on a sock affords excruciating pain. Yet despite the outside temperature being 37 degrees below zero, a visit to the doctor was in order. I basked only momentarily in the admiration of strangers as I limped barefoot into his waiting room.