If you have been following this scribe over the last 13 years - good Lord has it been that long – you will recall that I have a particular body part or two of which I am not fond.

I refer to my feet – or in Cockney slang – plates of meat which they indeed are.

Living a life of carefree and funnel web spider eschewing abandon in my homeland, I grew up like most Australians, adoring bare feet, which is all very well and good until you find you cannot squish your size 10-EEEs into a pair of Jimmy Choos for love nor money. Not that I have gone near a fashion pair of clodhoppers for many a year, but you catch my drift.

So romping through the sand dunes and grasses naturally splayed my feet to mammoth proportions to the point that I have had to endure two surgeries in my autumnal years.

So imagine my chagrin the other day when I flung on a pair of flip flops – or thongs as we call them – to belt up to Costco as Sir, who has I am sad to say, caught a Man Flu – i.e. a common cold – was in dire need of that establishment’s extraordinarily fabulous chicken soup.

As I entered the store I thought my left big toe was a tad itchy, so I galloped around the store using the floss twixt big toe and the next happily scratching.

Well apparently that wasn’t such a brilliant idea.

As I always do, I immediately de-shod myself on returning home, only to realize that the itch was becoming somewhat serious.

My big toe – or Great Toe as the medical profession would have it (I mean it’s a nice enough toe, but a Great one? I doubt it) – now felt like an overstuffed incredibly itchy sausage just ready to burst.

Wanting to resort to a nice sharp grapefruit knife to relieve my discomfort, I realized that course of action would likely result in my needing a third foot surgery, an event I can well live without, and so I have resorted to a cleverly manipulated ice pack into which my Fabulous Toe has been thrust ever since.

It does relieve the itch, I will admit, but I’m not at all sure frostbite is the way I would prefer to go (it, of course will ultimately also require surgery).

I have no idea when or what munched me, as the offending being naturally chomped and then easily escaped the open air confines of a flip flop. But if I find it was a spider there will be serious trouble which will ensue.

My darling daughter, Madam, lives in Sydney, and I’m sure can smuggle me the odd funnel web to give this little bugger a fright.

Mind you, then again, I might give the entire U.S. population a moment of panic.

Maybe I’ll just stick to the grapefruit knife.

Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at anniedearkc @hotmail.com.