So the other night I am sitting in the kitchen, shoes off, hanging out talking with the husband. Caroline, came in and was playing with my feet.
This is where I doubt that she is even my child, because feet are the one thing, besides spiders and obnoxious people that totally skeeve me out. I do believe that it may have stemmed from childhood trauma of having to pull my dad’s cowboy boots off after he got home from work, the ones that he insisted on wearing with his blue thin dress socks. I can only tell you that nothing could have survived in those shoes…nothing…including his feet which is why they were clearly rotting off the ends of his legs and that was the only explanation for the hot waft of stench that came out as the boot popped off sending me falling back onto the floor…
ANYWAY, I run, (OK so really? I try to run, I more bounce along panting and hoping that someone will stop and drive me to my destination and that I will adequately still burn the desired calories…) so my feet tend to be a little, well, calloused? Is that the right word? Or maybe I should just say I have old lady feet that are dry and a mess. Caroline looked at me with love in her eyes and said “why are your feet like that?”
“I said because I am old, and that is what they look like when you get old. You will have them too.”
At which point horror flashed on her face and she yells "Oh CRAP"
Ok, so perhaps I have gained another foot-a-phobe in my house now.