I like feet, I always have. They have character.
Now I can see why people wouldn't. The majority of feet are unkempt; smelly, boney, crooked. Freaky wiggly toes.
It was perhaps my fathers demands for foot-rubs whilst watching weeknight television which nipped this phobia in the bud. I won't divulge such personal information as of the state of my fathers feet but rest assured, I'm able to withstand any kind of decrepit foot you wish to throw at me. I'm also very talented at foot-rubs in case you were wondering.
Feet are unique, like snowflakes, big meaty slabs of snowflakes.
Some are nice and plump whilst others are flat waddling flippers (think Uma Thurman). Mine are particularly grotesque, all skinny long and boney. I've got a severe case of bunions, a word I believe which sounds far more grim than the thing it actually describes.
If you don't know what bunions are look at your feet. Now look at the knuckle of your big toe. If it sticks out, you got a bunion!
My dad used to get me walking around the house with toe separators on as a preemptive strike against bunions. It didn't work.
Apparently when I get older my ever growing bunion will push my big toe underneath all my other toes. My foot will end up looking like a huge dinosaur claw. This I don't mind really, like I said my feet have never been lookers, what I'm worried about is that it means I won't be able to wear high heels when I'm older.
I've always been under the grand illusion that as soon as I reach a certain age gone will be the doc martens and the leather leggings and the denim shirts. I will transform myself into an elegant, well kept lady always in modest heels and dresses.
If this is ever going to happen I'll have to get my bunions shaved. An incredibly painful procedure apparently but worth it if I wish to avoid a life of uggs and crocs.
But theres a lot more to my feet than bunions. The hard skin on my heels and the balls of my feet are so thick, due to my insistence on walking around bare foot, that I can cut off huge chunks with scissors.
And the smell, my lord the smell. Any of my close friends could tell you just how awful my feet smell.
It was a lot worse when I was younger. I went through a phase of wearing nothing but worker men's boots with nylon tights.
To give you an idea of just how foul this combination is I shall recall a day in particular. It was incredibly hot and of course having my feet cooped up in thick boots I was starting to perspire.
I was with my friend Frankie on a bus heading towards New Romney, visiting our friend Faye at her home.
Now when we finally got to hers I pleaded to cool my feet off in her bath and for whatever reason she let me. A cold bath was run, my feet were dunked in and to everyones horror the water turned green.
So yes my feet are bad, but this isn't to say you can't learn to love them. The lesson today is to accept and embrace the grimness of feet, the more interesting of the limbs. If you can't do this I'm afraid that one day you'll look down at your poor, weathered feet and find that you can just no longer bare to look at them. This is why so many old people wear slippers.
