Found this one in my Drafts from June 2008:
I don’t know where it began, but I absolutely cannot stand to have my feet uncovered. I hate walking on tile or linoleum with bare feet, my soles sticking to the floor. The thought of walking on hard wood flooring unshod, possibly impaling myself on a splinter, makes the hair on the back of my legs stand up.
Once I had a nightmare that I had just woken from a nap and was paralyzed, held to the bed by an unseen force. I was barely able to move my eyes just enough to look toward my uncovered, unprotected feet while my then 4 year old nephew inserted sewing needles into the soles of my feet. He giggled as he watched them travel up the veins in my legs.
So you see – I do not wear flip-flops.
I recognize that my soles are soft like pudding and I accept that I project this vulnerability onto other people’s feet. I don’t have any fear or hatred of the human foot itself, nor do other people’s feet particularly bother me. I’m not podophobic. I don’t mind cuddling up to someone in bed and having their feet touch me under the covers. I like it actually. In fact, I prefer to cuddle with guys that have intact feet.
Wait.
Where was I?
Yes, back to flip-flops.
What is it with people and these abominations of footwear? Is it because they’re cheap? It can’t be because they’re comfortable, what with that annoying string between your toes, constantly there between your toes being all… string like. They’re not cute. They’re noisy. Plus, what if something should happen where it would be beneficial to have footwear that actually covers and protects your feet?
Being from New Orleans, of course the first situation that comes to my mind is a drunk frat guy or sorostitute throwing up on the floor near you, or finding yourself accidentally stumbling through a mound of horse crap the size of Monkey Hill in the middle of the street; or the middle of the sidewalk. If you have spent any time there, you know that two thirds of every block in New Orleans is basically covered in either horse crap or tourist vomit and yet there are hundreds of people who insist on walking around wearing nothing more on their feet than a piece of nylon twine and nerf refuse.
Frequently I see people on the street or bars wearing flip flops with shorts or jeans and although my left brain acknowledges that this is a fashionably acceptable combination it terrifies me. Given the amount of people in very close proximity in a bar, It’s just asking for trouble: a crushed distal phalanx, a soaked foot from a spilled drink or somehow accidentally puncturing a cute guy’s Achilles tendon with my sharp, talon-like toenails.
It’s hard to keep them trim them while constantly wearing socks.
Today, here in DC, I saw someone wearing flip-flops with a suit and tie for god’s sake. What’s up with that? What if some crazed defendant, unable to control his rage, suddenly bolts across the room when the verdict is read? What if before the bailiffs tazes and tackles him to the ground, he accidentally steps on your foot or vomits? What if one of the bailiffs has a horse? What then, Mr Lawyer-Man with the flip flops? What then?