Memoirs of a Bunionaire

WebMD

It was my first visit to Club Hedonism in Jamaica where clothing is optional. I have never had any problem with nudity per se. In fact, I’ll be the first person to get my clothes off where the situation merits undressing—such as in connubial matters. My only problem with public nakedness in this "neck" of the woods had always been my feet--which are a freak show. You may ask what is he complaining about? However, being a bunionaire for all its advantages is not what it's cracked up to be--particularly when you have to be barefooted like the flagstone surface around the pool of a country club. For many people a slippy poolside setting is the perfect occasion for flip flops, but that’s not an option for someone like me who requires specially designed orthopedic ones that resemble the cement shoes mobsters use to put their marks asleep. In any case it was "Toga Night." I knew that even a sizable inheritance or that matter endowment would not make up for the effect created by the Maginot line of my feet whose bunions resemble the cannonballs embedded in concrete next to the Soldiers and Sailors monument on Riverside Drive. My feet scream out “the British are coming” to potential partners who would otherwise consider me a candidate to assist in their bliss. In fact the spotting of a bunionaire is enough to stop most people in their tracks. Muggers, in fact faint when I point to my bare feet, when all they want is my wallet.

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