She Hated to Wear Shoes

Umm, yeah, that would be me

For as far back as I can remember, I hated wearing shoes. I even threw tantrums when winter came, but I had to put them on anyway. My mother made me.

I’m not completely sure why this feeling stays with me to this day, but right now, I’m sitting in my living room barefoot, feeling like everything is right in the world. Of course, everything is not right in the world. We all know that. But I and my feet wish it were.

This brings me to the other things I want to say.

I like grounding myself. But as a child, I didn’t know what that was. I didn’t kick off my shoes, giggling, because I wanted to become enlightened or anything.

My understanding of connecting with the earth and the energy transference that happens when you stand on the earth's flesh didn’t come about until my adulthood. However, it’s possible she knew, my little me, these deep secrets, even as a child.

Maybe she did. I don’t know. But this realization as an adult made my feet happy because it gave them more excuses to be naked.

Did you know that feet are really happy when they’re naked?

It’s true. And it’s possible that they feel a sense of restraint and containment when covered in leather, cloth, or other such bindings. Feet want to be free, at least mine do. I can almost hear them yelling at me when I have to wear shoes to go in stores. They hate that.

I like my Nikes, but I wish they were gloves. I rather wear gloves than shoes any day. And this is strange because I’m constantly typing at my computer, and wouldn’t gloves make my hands feel restricted?

*whispers to my fingers*

They said they don't mind as long as they’re fingerless gloves. In fact, they quite like the feeling. Isn't that strange?

I think I shall protest the ‘no shirt and shoes, no service’ sign I saw the other day. I think it’s unfair and biased. What right do they have to limit my ability to enter an establishment with toe freedom?

MY FEET NEED TO BREATHE TOO! This is abuse, I tell ya! Free the feet! Free the feet!

I walk around in the warm damp earth with my sign held high. My fingers are still stained with finger paint and my sign starts to run. Rain falls from the sky. Did I unknowingly do a rain dance just now? I look down at my muddy toes and smile. Aww, you guys are tired, aren't you?

“Yes, we are. Can we rest by the fire?”

“Of course, you can. Would you like a bath first?”

“Nah, we like being dirty! Wahahaha”

Let’s be real here

So, feet can’t really talk. I get that. And I can’t break society’s rules to fit my desires. I get that too. But isn’t it just indescribable how nice and soothing it feels to sit uninhibited free from all shoes?

When I die, I expect a simple burial. I want to lie in a coffin made from a wicker basket, wearing a white cotton dress and no shoes. Please, dear God, don’t put shoes on my feet.

And if you want to be funny about it, engrave this on my tombstone.

“She Hated to Wear Shoes”

Because baby, I do hate wearing shoes. And I would need a whole hour to expand on this subject.

However, I prefer sitting by the heater, mindlessly dreaming and wiggling my toes right now. Talk to ya later.