Now that I am unemployed from my ‘work from home job’, I had reason to leave the house to meet a friend for coffee. I erroneously chose to wear shoes instead of ‘work from home’ flip flops. My feet were not prepared for real shoes since my delicate feet are accustomed to open and airy flip-flips. I am a bit worried should I need to take a job in an office where wearing real shoes is required. I am confident my feet can adjust, but I feel bad that I will need to put them through such torture.
Today I felt like the kid on the monkey bars for the first time who hasn’t had time to build up callous on his hands.
For me my pain (and blisters) were on the bottom of me feet. It isn’t that I don’t like shoes. I have many pairs. It is just that they haven’t seen daylight for years. Many shoes have never seen Arizona daylight, and have calmly waited for escape from the closet since the move from Oregon three years ago. As soon as I moved to Arizona, I started wearing sandals and flip-flops and I haven’t looked back (at the shoes) since. Are flip-flops a habit or a necessity? My feet sweat too much in regular shoes here, it is embarrassing. Especially if your nose gets too close to my feet. For me flip-flops are a necessity.
I know, I know, in the name of fashion I need to wear too tight, too high, shoes that make my feet uncomfortable and sweaty. The thing is that on most days I never leave the sofa (I mean office), so who cares what shoes I am wearing? If I do venture out to Starbuck’s, the grocery store or the daily drop-off/pick-up of the kids – my foot attire doesn’t really matter. Does it? Should I be worried about what people are saying about my shoes? What do my shoes say about me anyway? Will people not like me because of my shoes?
For today anyway, my black backless leather mules who got to stroll down Arizona Avenue said, “Wow, it is nice to be outside the closet!”. However, the shoes seemed to be ungrateful and punished me with blisters. The mules are back in the closet recovering from their outing, as my feet recover from the pain they inflicted. This afternoon I am back in my flip-flops who are always grateful and never give me blisters. For now anyway, my feet are getting a reprieve from the torture of working in an office every day. Funny how I am more worried about my feet getting through a day in the office than I am about myself. I definitely think my soul and my mind are stronger than my feet, at least until they can build up enough callous for real shoes.
The whole family was sitting together on the sofa looking at some old photos and movies clips of the kids when they were babies. Daddy (Chris) kept asking,”What is that smell?”, and, “Who farted?”. Apparently the odor that was passing by his nose was not good. Not good at all! I was on the other end of the sofa, so I couldn’t smell a thing. (I actually thought he was imagining things.) Finally Chris realized the origin of the odor, our 4-year-old daughter’s feet. “It is her feet!”, he exclaimed. It seemed that this stench was so terrible that it couldn’t even come from a men’s locker room, never mind our dainty daughter’s feet.
Unfortunately, I am the guilty party here regarding the smelly feet. It isn’t because I let Paige wear shoes without socks today, but instead because I have passed on to her the ‘stinky-feet’ gene. For years this gene has been a real problem for me. So many times I have found myself scrubbing my feet with anti-bacterial soap in an attempt to wash away the smell. If you can call it a smell. A smell can sound nice, like roses ‘smell’. “What a beautiful smell!”, someone might say as they walk by an aromatic rose-bush. What I ‘sensed’ through my nose now, was anything but beautiful.
Realizing that Chris is suffering from the odor of Paige’s feet caused by my faulty gene, I take Paige into the bathroom and scrub her feet clean. How sad is it that Paige already knows the routine for ‘cleaning her feet’? An overall bath, sure, but how many kids run a bath for their stinky feet?
I return to sit on the sofa with Paige and her feet (that now smell like flowers) and suddenly I am overcome (actually my nose is overcome) with another vile odor. It isn’t my feet (I don’t think?). Then I notice my son Tucker and his feet that are actually covered in socks. Too bad the socks didn’t cover the odor like they did with his feet. Now the harsh reality hits me that he also has the ‘stinky-feet’ gene. Chris promptly instructs Tucker to enter the bathroom for his feet fumigation. Tucker removes his socks and Chris says, “Your feet have a toxic aroma. Let’s take care of that.”
I never heard anyone say ‘toxic’ and ‘aroma’ in the same sentence. Aroma is what you experience when you enter someone’s house after they baked cookies or burned a vanilla candle. It is too bad the ‘aroma’ of my children’s feet wasn’t more like the baked cookies, but you just have to deal with the genes you are given. I am just thankful that I live in a time and place where water and soap are plentiful (along with scented bubble bath) and I don’t always have to suffer from breathing air with a toxic aroma.