My feet hurt. And not in the oh-I-walked--a-little-more-than-usual-in-the-last-couple-of-days way, but in the ow-I-think-I-have-a-bunch-of-microcuts-on-the-bottom-of-my-feet way.

You spend the better part of two days walking around barefoot in an indoor water park with hundreds and hundreds of other people. You stand for a total of a couple of hours in lines on always-wet staircases where other people stood just moments before and you hope that foot disease transmittal rates are low. Because you know no one is disinfecting those stairs at night.

That's the kind of thing I think about, not about cryptosporidium, like my husband. The women's locker room at Kalahari was always packed, with every locker taken and the floor wet and kinda slimy always and bits of old bandaids and pieces of waterlogged food and paper slowly disintegrating along the walls (you hope).

I did not ever intend to walk through the locker room without shoes on, but unfortunately, right before we started to leave, Allie suddenly had to pee and the other bathrooms (that are a little less used) were a good block away. So we walked in the locker room without shoes at the busiest time of the day. Ick.

This was right after my family watched the efforts of about six or seven people to disinfect the kiddie pool after four floaters were found (and I don't mean air-filled floatie toys).

It was a fun trip overall and we'll definitely go there again despite the germies because it's a good time, but it's good to be home.