Sunday, 1 June 2014

Angry feet

"My feet could hold up a plane’’, I tell her as she squashes my toes as hard as she can with her fingers, pressing down with all her substantial weight on top of my boots. 

She wants me to take them off, to investigate them for drugs. She has to she says, its procedure.  Ive never been one to follow procedure and nether have my feet. 

She’s bent down in front of me and shes breathing a little fast and hard.

I can’t tell if it’s from the force of pushing down on my toes or if she has a secerate foot fetish, this would be the job for it right, getting to watch people take on and off their shoes all day. I had a lover one who liked to get spegitti sucked through her toes, does she? or maybe she’s a lesbian and she knows these boots scream sex or the chair really does do it for her…

She looks up at me, like I annoy her more than excite her, we are treading that fine-line of annoyance turned into passion
that would work for us if we were lovers.

She thinks she holds the power here but I know my feet do. 

She says it again, ‘’you going to have to take your boots off, we 
need to drug test them, we cant give you special treatment you know’’. 

I say: ‘’well if you want them off you’re going to have to help me and help me get them back on, that could take a while cos when my feet get emotional they get uncooperative and you’re making them upset touching them like that’’ I almost add a honey at the end but that would be pushing it. 

She looks at me like either I must have taken all the drugs she was thinking are hidden in my boots smuggled from hills of Nimbin or that im a bit special in the head. I am wearing my new favourite shirt, which I now think may have been a bad idea and part of what set her off. 

It says im so hornet with a cartoon hornet on it, and my hair is dyed newly bright red and dishevelled from having to get up far too early and skip my morning essential coffee to struggle to get my cranky feet into these boots. She stands up and calls a guy over to come and swab boots, and looks like she’s come to the conclusion that either I am high or crazy or both but defently capable of having feet which could hold up a plane. 

She says; ‘’you can go, but I hope your mother knows what you did to your hair’’ I want to say honey, my mother did my hair but that might make her think I come from a family eccentric werdos  and we would end up locked in the foot battle again.

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