My neuroses seem currently to have settled on my ankles. I'm getting all sorts of aches and pains in my legs (OK, so I'm getting all sorts of aches and pains in most of the rest of me, too, but the ones in my legs are new) - and I glimpsed what looked like blue vein lines round my right ankle a couple of days ago. So I'm currently studiously avoiding looking at my own legs, for fear of what I might find.
This isn't actually that difficult - although shaving my legs tomorrow will be a bit more of a challenge - as I almost always wear trousers, and always seem to go to bed and get up at the moment at times when the heating isn't on so that I scramble between trousers and pyjama trousers in as little time as physically possible. But the memory of my mother and grandmothers' varicose veins is haunting me: they were always hideous and repulsive. I'd also always kind of assumed that they were to do with them being old and fat. Google tells me that pregnancy hormones have something to do with it as well (my Mum and both of my grandmothers developed them during pregnancy), but the preconception - and the sense of childhood nightmare - remains.
I'm sitting here with my legs crossed, as otherwise my laptop is at the wrong angle to type. I suspect that's only making things worse, but by not looking I can at least avoid confirmation of the problem - at least, I can until we go to Gran Canaria next Wednesday, at which point I might want to wear a skirt.
(I liked the idea of ending this with a picture of Nora Batty's legs, but Google images insisted on producing pictures of Madonna and/or amputees instead, which isn't going to help the neuroses one little bit...)
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