If you've ever walked barefoot through any sandy terrain like the beach, you've probably stepped on a few.
I hate them. I'm sure they were created right after Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit. God's wrath... sandspurs.
During the Myrtle Beach trip, I stepped on one while walking back to the truck. It was right under the pier of all places. And it went in deep, in the lower part of my arch right above the heel to the outside of my foot. In other words, a blind spot. When I pulled it out, I knew there were some tips still left in.
Sure enough, 6 days later I couldn't walk without pain. Since I couldn't see it, Mom 'operated' on my foot with a sterile needle and peroxide. She thought she got it all. But wasn't sure and suggested I put a piece of raw potato on it to draw any other pieces out. "It works," she said.
Now, 5 days later my foot is sore again. I took a mirror and looked at it. Sure enough there's an angry red spot with a dark dot in it. I guess she'll have to operate again. This time I will do the raw potato thing ...because a sandspur is hell and I don't want to be its bitch.
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