Starting late last week I’ve fallen into the habit of having to take my shoes off during my lunch break. For some reason I just can not relax unless I am barefoot and feeling the freedom of prancing around the house as nature intended. I’ve always loved to be barefoot, but felt that the lunch hour is too short to enjoy the luxury. Last week I decided the heck with it and threw my shoes aside while I typed in my blog and enjoyed my lunch hour.
My blog friend Thom seems to have a concern for clean, presentable feet and I can confidently say that my feet are winners in that department. As long as you don’t look on the bottom. Running around barefoot all the time can result in some dirty feet. However, as I discovered when I was still in my single digits, that’s why Mother Nature gave us dew on the grass; so that we could run around and clean our feet.
I’m such a kid at heart.
Except for commuting to work I tend to drive barefoot. I’ve been told by people that I’m going to be stopped for driving barefoot but I don’t really see how that can happen since my feet are inside the car and the cops tend to be outside the car. It’s not like I have a neon light over the Acura yelling “bare feet!”.
There is also something very relaxing about having your feet rubbed. Even if it’s just your loved one rubbing your feet gently, I find it very soothing. Little lotions and whatnot are a wonderful thing too, but I’m content with just getting the knots in the bottom of my feet rubbed out.
When I was a kid, I paid the price one time for running around barefoot. We were at the baby sitter’s one summer afternoon running around in the yard. I was seven or so years old, running around chasing someone somewhere when all of a sudden it felt like my feet were on fire. I looked at the bottom of my feet and they were all gray and puffy. Turns out the sitter had dumped the coals out of her barbecue grill the night before and didn’t bother to pour water on them to cool them off, and they were still hot. I had burned the bottoms of both my feet. My mother is probably tearing up as she reads this. But nevertheless it didn’t slow my desire to be barefoot down, once my feet healed I was off running through the cow pastures and corn fields, meadow muffins and all, barefoot and loving every minute of it.
If you want to see a picture of my feet, look no further than the introduction page to our web site. Earl and I had our portraits taken a couple of years ago. Barefoot, of course.
