Obsessed with size, of course

    What? I'm talking about boots. (And clothes generally yesterday.) Of course.
    Months ago, I started getting the kind of foot pain that indicates it's time to get new boots. (The well-known broky-foot sensation.) As I probably blithered about at the time, the good folks at Mast General Store, who had sold me the boots, felt that they still had some wear in them and suggested I buy some really expensive insoles instead. They also suggested that I take out the built-in Keen insoles.
    I did the former and not the latter and the soles of my feet felt all bruisy. I did both and my feet flopped around in my boots. So I went back to plan A (double insoles) but unfortunately the bruisy sensation never did go away. Now finally I've taken out the Keen insoles once and for all, and though the boots still seem too large, the bruisiness is much better. So I suppose I'm happy.
    The thing is, the boots with one insole in should be exactly the same size as what I bought (10); I don't know why my feet would be loose in them. I've tried buying 9 1/2s before, but they were always painfully tight. So I guess I'm legitimately a size 10. The only thing that makes sense is that I broke the boots in with two sets of insoles (the original Keens plus a Dr. Scholl's) and now they're stretched out. If I hit a quiet minute, maybe I'll try out a 9 1/2 of the same boot and see how I do.
    Dad was sitting up today and was reasonably lucid. We had a visit from Santa in running shoes; he brought Dad shower gel. If we'd known he was coming, we would have left out cookies. Dad said he had been dreaming that my brother Frank had 15 children. I said, yes, I think that was probably a dream.
    I had wacky dreams of my own, like being on a toilet in front of dozens of people. The weird thing about dreams is how often weird events in dreams seem perfectly normal and workaday. Lucky thing I'm not Rob Lowe, I guess.