: the scourge of summer :

Frequent readers are aware of my deep and abiding love for summer. I don’t knock it. Not under any circumstances. I don’t complain of the heat. Or the humidity. Or the bugs. Or sticking fast to furniture. In my eyes, it’s all wonderful. To criticize would be tantamount to blasphemy.

There is, however, one teeny tiny little fly in the ointment: Feet. They’re everywhere these warm sunny days, except tied up tight in a pair of shoes.


And they’re very unsightly. People, women especially, go to great lengths to make their feet more presentable and attractive for the summer months. ‘Tis the season for strappy sandals and flip-flops and open-toed heels, after all. So they polish and pumice and moisturize, they put on ankle bracelets and toe rings and tattoos; they get pedicures, for Pete’s sake.

Come on, surrender, Dorothy. No amount of nail polish will hide the fact those things down there are feet. With toes. Shoot, if you look close enough, something I strongly advise against, you’ll find a variety of unsightly bumps and knobs and scaly crud, such as bunions, corns, calluses, blisters, assorted fungi, rashes, and hammer toes. Please, put some shoes on. No one wants to see that stuff.

The most disturbing aspect of feet is their unnatural, pasty color. They’re a ghastly, bloodless white, almost neon with a glow like a mood ring. I guess you have to feel kind of sorry for them. I mean, they rarely see the light of day or feel the wind in their toe hair; they just go where they’re told. Think about it, when’s the last time you let your feet run free?

Maybe we should take them out more. Let them have a little fun. In the privacy of our own homes, of course.

happy feet


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12 responses to “: the scourge of summer :”

  1. I got tired of cold feet and moved to Panama (for now.) My feet are now happily free of socks and shoes and delightfully warm and tan :). Yay!


    1. You lucky, lucky duck. What I wouldn’t give to have my cold, blue feet buried in hot sand on a beach. There’s nothing better. I want to be you for a month.


  2. Does this mean you have an anti-feet fetish?
    I love to let my feet breath and run free. My sister actually makes and sells “Barefoot Sandals”. They are pretty much jewellery for your feet and you can wear them with bare feet or with flip flop type sandals. Yes, we embrace the feet around here.


    1. You can get your feet up high enough to embrace them? Whoa! I’m in awe, silk purse.

      I don’t really mind feet, but they are kind of goofy looking. And mine are usually cold — I hate that.


      1. I suffer the cold feet thing as well. Not pleasant.


        1. You have my sympathies. Today it’s sunny and 80 degrees; I’m wearing shorts and wool socks. Cold feet are the worst.


  3. People either love feet or hate them. After going to the beach a few days ago, I wish that feet were the most offensive body part I saw. I’m not a body snob, but I haven’t “let myself go” either. I can’t say the same thing for some of my fellow sand flies.


    1. Feet are funny. Beer bellies and moles with hair and Speedos on anyone over 25 are, well, not. Besides, I have to sleep at night.


  4. FurthermoreAndSoForth Avatar

    My lily white feet are as gnarly as the next person’s yet still, I have no shame. Sandals and flip flops are my first choice in the summer. To take it one step further (sorry), offer me a foot massage and I’ll shed those sandals faster than you can say toe jam. I’m kind of assuming you’re not going to do that though.


    1. Uh, no. I’m not.

      If you were four, maybe. Or a dog. I love dog’s feet. Otherwise, no. N-O, no. But thanks for the offer.


  5. I have nice feet, lightly tanned with toes currently sporting a cheery cerulean blue shade of nail polish. But as much as I love my feet, they are for me alone. You can look but you can’t touch. Unless you like walking around with a bone fracture or a bloody nose.

    My reflexes are just that fast.

    PS — are these your feet above or a google facsimile?


    1. They are not. My feet and I are camera-shy. If there’s a camera in the vicinity, I can smell it, then I run like my hair’s on fire. Sadly, however, my reflexes need a week’s notice, so I mostly fall flat on my face.

      I envy you your lightly tanned feets, BD. Mine would be happier and look better if we had a pool — a place they could dangle freely.


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