Our family was very wealthy so i could have spent my time doing almost anything else but i received a vision one afternoon from Saint Francis who told me my life had no meaning and to go into town and do what i could for the poor people and i thought i could just pop into town and give some fashion advice, along the lines of a fingerless lacy glove would go really well with those dirty street trash clothing but these people had nothing and so for some reason i began the feet cleaning thing.
Now we lived in an age when flushing the toilet meant pooping in a bucket and tipping it out the window so disease was everywhere, especially leprosy and on occasion a scab would fall off into the water.
If you are of a squeamish nature you may want to skip this bit but one day, for some unknown reason, i tasted the water and it was really, really sweet so i took a bigger mouthful and a scab from the leper’s sores became lodged in my throat.
Being a lady, i couldn't just spit it out i so pretended it was a wafer from the Holy Communion and swallowed it. I won't lie, it didn't taste great and i didn't do it again.
When my husband died i gave away all my possessions and started a community devoted to the care of the needy and dictated a series of books about my visions and got made a Saint of Widows, presumably the position of Saint of eating scabs was already taken.
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