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.
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