I hate feet. I find feet to be the MOST repulsive things on the human body. Just the thought of them makes my gag reflex twitch. I remember the EXACT day and moment my hatred for feet began. It was Tuesday, September 9th, 1991, and I was in my first week of junior high. I was in the locker room, changing for P.E. and I glanced over when another girl said, “look at my foot!”
I am not going to go into too many details, but it was chapped and black and there were callouses and I have to stop or I’m going to throw up. My friend Tara will be quick to remind people that when I was younger, I had a VERY touchy stomach, so the fact I didn’t barf at the site of her mangled foot still baffles me. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see it.
In my day to day life, I try to not let my foot phobia effect me. I will notice your shoes and comment, I might even remark on your toenail color. But, inside, I die a little. I HATE looking at feet. I only look at my own long enough to put my shoes on. I don’t touch my own feet if I can avoid it – I get pedicures to keep things in order. And if someone’s bare foot touches me – FORGET. IT. I will jump away as if touched by the hottest of Satan’s embers. I will probably scream. And then, seriously, I will scrub that part of my body until I rub the skin raw.
My friends take immense glee in my distaste for feet. When that TERRIFYING commercial for Lamisil comes on (you know the one, where the disgusting little fungus LIFTS UP A BIG TOENAIL AND THEN CLAWS AT THE NAIL BED OH MY GAAAAAAAH), they will pause it and then call me over to the TV. All Mike has to do is threaten to touch me with his feet and I will give him the entire bed. Tara used to chase me around barefoot just to torture me.
Usually when I express my feelings on feet, I get a crooked eyebrow from whoever is listening. But, after a few minutes of anti-tootsy ramblings, a funny thing happens. People tell me what THEY are afraid of or horrified by. And dude. Some of them are crazy. Heh.
Tomorrow Mike, Maddie and I are making the long drive from So Cal to Nor Cal to see his family and Jackie! (Don’t even get me started on the drive, I hate it almost as much as I hate feet, but you can’t fly with an oxygen rocket). So please help amuse us by telling your fears and phobias that others might consider “strange.” I’ll be reading comments on my crackberry. Hopefully Mike will start things off by explaining his fear of cotton. COTTON!!!