Foot Soldier

Story Sent in by Eric:

Connie came barefoot to our date. I asked her if she had lost her shoes, and she said, "No, I don't believe in them."

It turned out that the first restaurant at which we stopped, though, did believe in them, and we were politely told that we couldn't be seated. Instead of taking it gracefully, Connie attempted to explain to the host and manager why bare feet were actually more health-conscious than shoes. They were way more indulgent than I thought they'd be, through her rambling, incoherent points, but when they told her that it was the law, she seemed to give up.

We found a place that had an outdoor patio, and even though it was chilly out, it was open and I suggested to Connie that we go there. They either didn't see or didn't mention anything about her feet, and we were seated among the few other parties outside.

Not long after, I asked her, "How long have you been going barefoot?"

She replied, "Almost 10 years." She then pushed her chair back, and lifted the soles of her feet up for me to see.

They looked like shiny black rocks, like no part of a human body should ever look. My appetite well and truly gone, I said, "Great. You can put them down."

"You're such a norm," she remarked, likely seeing my squirmy disgust.

She spent most of the rest of dinner talking about the challenges she faced as a "footist," the difficulties of staying warm during the winter (she'd modify human hair wigs and somehow adhere them to her feet), and how everyone should try going around barefoot, since it was natural.

The best part was when she dropped her napkin on the ground and picked it up with her left foot, took it with her hand, and put it back on her lap. Yeah. Only date.