It's a curse of being overweight and working two sedentary jobs: Along about 5 pm every evening, the skin on my feet begins to crackle, like the outside of a hot dog cooked to perfection on an open spit. I stretch out my feet and point my toes to see if it's really happening. And sure enough, it feels just like someone has wrapped them up in duct tape. Tightly. My feet should be bright red and about to burst open, but when I look down, there are the same pale and serenely swollen toes staring back at me as always. Yes, it's 5 pm; I can nearly set my watch by it these days. Like a werewolf at the onset of a full moon.
Only five more hours to go until I begin the long drive home.
I have a colleague who keeps a small plastic coke bottle full of water in the freezer, and every day at about 4:30 pm, she pulls out this frozen bottle, puts it under her desk, and rolls her feet over it. She says a physical therapist taught her the trick.
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