I saw a picture that someone took of their feet. Their feet were in the green grass. It was nice. Bare feet in new spring grass. Nice.
I tried it. Only I was using my own feet and not the feet of the person that had taken the picture mentioned above. I also used other grass.
I could tell they were my feet because they were attached to my legs, which were attached to my body. It is important that you get all of that solidly established in your mind; otherwise a big guy might throw you out of a bar for feeling someone’s boobs. They don’t tend to believe you when you say “Oh, I thought those were MY boobs”.
There are small minded people in the world.
I asked my feet to be still while trying to take the picture. My feet would not listen. They apparently did not want their picture taken. Maybe they wanted a “model release form” signed. I dunno. How would they sign? They are feet.
I talked to them. It was like talking to a family member. They didn’t listen. As I was talking I could tell by their attitude that they were not listening. It was maddening.
While I was try to take the picture, they kept moving around and they knew darn good and well that this would disturb the camera and if I tried to take a picture then it would be all blurry.
This isn’t the first problem we have had with them.
They almost went to jail once when the cop pulled us over for going 50 in a 30 school zone. I told the police person that it was my feet. Sometimes they do what they want. They press on the gas pedal however they want. I told the policeman that I could try to talk to them again… give them a stern lecture when we get home. Maybe that will work.
I asked if he wanted to have a talk with them. Maybe someone of authority could make a difference. Tough love.
He looked constipated.
He suggested that I sign the ticket. I asked if he wanted my feet to sign as it was really their fault. That is when the topic of jail surfaced. I said I didn’t want my feet in jail.
And then there was that time they took me into a place where I should not have been. They knew better but they went there anyway. I told them that this may seem like it will be fun but rarely do these things turn out the way that your imagination paints the picture for you. They did not listen. We went anyway.
I have been looking into feet transplants. A pair of lady feet would be nice. I could polish the toe nails. But I would always wear socks because an older guy with lady feet and painted toe nails might look strange. Lady feet would expect pedicures and paint and I wouldn’t want to disappoint.
So far I have not found a web site where you can look for donor feet.
Kidneys yes.
Hearts yes.
Feet no.
Maybe I will have another talk with my feet. I wonder if the subject of transplants would sober them up?
©David L Arment
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