Compeed blister plasters aren’t especially sexy. In fact-ah, they’re pretty much the polar opposite of sexy. That doesn’t diminish the fact that they are absolute Godsends of things, rendering shoes that would usually cut lumps out of your heels or rub holes in your poor toes wearable again.
What they are not, as I discovered recently, is a decent substitute for, er, em, well, nipple plasters. Unfortunately, it never really occurred to me that they might be anything less than wholly suitable for the task of minding my modesty on a nippy (ho ho) evening when I was in a shoulderless, backless and damn near frontless frock.
Now, they actually did a pretty good job of disguising any pointy-ness, but mother of God I thought I’d never get the shaggin’ things off! It actually took a couple of days of soaking and soaping and cursing and pulling at them to eventually remove them, and it was a bloody sore process. I’m shuddering and involutarily crossing my arms tight over my chest here just thinking about it.
Next time, I think I’ll just go au natural…