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Your Foot Fetish, My Confusion
What is it with dudes and feet? I’m serious right now. What is it?
Every couple weeks as a sashay bout in my stilettos some guy compliments me on my shoes. If we end up going out, at some point he says something to the likes of, let me see your feet.
Huh?
In fact, a couple of times I have had guys compliment me on my sexy shoes and then make mention that I probably have nice feet.
Once again, what???
Does that even sound right? How do men think women’s feet get messed up in the first place?
Let me say in no uncertain terms, my feet are not cute. Since 2002, I have been wearing stilettos or some sort of high-heel on a daily basis. My feet have been rubbed to the death top front bottom and side to side. I don’t have Boomerang Lela Rochon feet, but still my tootsies are nothing to brag about or take pictures of…unless you are a photographer for Wheredeydodatat.net.
I keep my pedicures up, keep my toes painted, and feet moisturized. Still, MY FEET ARE NOT CUTE. My pedicurist (is that a word?) at Nusta spa in downtown dc gives me pedicures that temporarily make it look like I got a foot transplant. But until such a day that a foot transplant is invented, MY FEET WILL REMAIN UNCUTE. Plus, why would I bother getting a foot transplant only to, once again, insert my new more admirable feet into stiletto L.A.M.Bs?
( L.A.M.B.'s black Rasta boot photo courtesy of intheircloset.com)
Men, please use the comment box to explain your obsession with feet. Last time I checked not that many of you were into toe sucking and not that many of you are giving regular romantic footrubs…so what does it matter what our feet look like as long as we keep them moisturized so they don’t make minced meat out of your leg in the bed?
I used to have really pretty feet, before stilettos. I noticed my feet gradually becoming uncuter and uncuter as time went on but I didn’t care. My shoes are glorious and they make me feel sexy. And it’s not like my toes are jumbled up or deformed or bunioned (is that a word?) So…I just rolled, and still roll, with my stiletto lifestyle.
Honestly, I would compare having pretty feet to long hair–nice in theory but simply not practical for me. When I was growing up people raved about my hair. When I was in elementary school my mom let my hair grow half way down my back. She used to braid it really tight. She finally let me wear my hair out for picture day. My hair was so long and thick it got stuck in the cracks in my desk in class, then later, it got tangled in my book bag when I tried to take it off on the bus.
When Monica, the singer came out, I wanted to be like her so I cut my hair really short. People who barely knew me were upset as though I’d snuck into their houses in the middle of the night and chopped off their springy ash blonde curls rather than my own.
After a few years I got nostalgic and decided to let my hair grow midway my back again. Everything was fine and good until I arrived at the hair salon and found out there would be a $15 extra charge even though she didn’t quite know what to do with it. Not to mention my hair is so curly even a relaxer won’t keep it straight. Now, I only wear my real hair when I feel like letting my inner Kelis circa 1999 out, and even still I rarely let it grow past my shoulders.
The lovely Alicia Keys - who probably rarely has to style her own hair
See I have learned that having long hair isn’t not going to get me anywhere in life, and neither is having pretty feet. I figured stilettos would get me further in life than pretty feet, jury’s still out on that; however I am POSITIVE that no one is going to give me a job, a man, a house, 3 boys and a girl, or my ultimate fantasy, a Range Rover, because I have flawless feet… unless I apply at one of those foot fetish web sites. Men, if I’m wrong, please let me know how soon I could have expected my Range to arrive after us meeting if I would have showed you something pretty when I took off my Bronx leather thigh-high stilettos instead of the homely footies I display when I eventually go barefoot in front of you.
While I have you here, men should know that if a woman says she wears high-heels, in particular, stilettos DAILY and you look at her feet and they are beautiful she is lying. She may wear stilettos going out, she may wear heels around the office but she damn sure doesn’t wear them on the train or from her car to the job or to the grocery store or to the mall. You can’t have it both ways. And no 3” platforms are not stilettos, if you think they are, I got a shoe closet that will bring tears to your eyes. Fellas (and lesbians), if you like your woman in heels rather than sneakers, please understand that a flawed foot is your friend.
Choosing a man/Buying Peanut Butter = Same Thing
I have always hated making decisions.
When I get married I plan to defer all decisions to my husband. I will be submissive and controlled.
Decisions are stressful for me. Simple ones like whether to buy a shirt in red or blue are paralyzing. When I’m shopping and I’m faced with such a difficult choice I typically give up and choose neither. I’d rather make no choice at all then to make the wrong one.
Inevitably, when I leave the store I wonder if not making a choice was actually, in fact, making a bad choice.
My lack of decisionmaking prowess is an issue every month when I shop for peanut butter. I LOVE PEANUT BUTTER. I keep one jar of peanut butter at work, and the other jar in my bed. Yes, in my bed. PB is high protein filling, and delicious. If I get hungry in the middle of the night, I feel around for my peanut butter, pop the jar open, grab the spoon wrapped in a napkin on top of my nightstand and dig in. I keep a bottle of water on my nightstand as well for these emergencies.
Since I love PB sooooo much, you would think I prefer a particular brand. I don’t. Every month when I purchase two jars of peanut butter I compare price with chunky vs. creamy. Then I try to remember all the brands that were killing people. I try to avoid those, but if they are really tasty I’ll buy them anyway. I can’t commit to a PB in fact, I can barely choose a PB to settle on. I’ve stood in the PB aisle for up to 20 minutes and just ended up grabbing the 2 PBs closest to me. I can tell you right now, just grabbing the nearest 2 resulted in regret many times. So now when I can’t make a decision, much like shirt shopping, I leave the store without PB in tow knowing damn well I don’t like to sleep without it!
I have the same relationship with men that I have with peanut butter.
So many choices…so many possibilities…so hard to choose one. And when I can’t, I ditch them all and start over. I’m either with a lot of peanut butter, I mean men, or without any! In other words, I’m either not dating anyone at all or dating like 7 people I can’t keep straight or choose between.
Everytime I meet a man I compare tall vs. short, skinny vs. chunky…one minute I’m in the mood for Clinton Portis, next minute I’m in the mood for Robert from Day 26—no correlation at all. But unlike a jar of peanut butter, you can’t just hurry up and finish a man so you can try a new one.
All I need is 2 spoonfuls of PB to know if I like it, with men, it takes much longer to figure out if this is one of those brands that be killing people…or, if the time/emotional price is too much to pay for a sampling. All of these questions come in to play when I consider committing to a product or a relationship.
Right now none of the men that I am getting to know have enough of the right qualities…I have a feeling I need to ditch this bunch and try something new. A couple months ago, I tried almond butter and nutella to replace peanut butter. I liked it.
Not sure what the metaphorical equivalent is when it comes to men…but until I solve my PB commitment issues, I think my relationship commitment issues will persist.
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