3. Dear Feet

Dear Feet

I admit that you and I haven’t always been close. I say this now before I really begin this letter because I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. The truth is, I don’t like you very much. I mean, I’m thankful that you’re on the ends of my legs and everything, it’s just that, well, as a rule, I find your kind a little repulsive. I’m sorry. I know that was cruel.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I do actually have some good things to say about you.

First of all, is there any other body part as hard working as you? Maybe the mouth, the tongue – but really, those things don’t get shoved into shoes and stomped on all day, do they? We use you to kick things. We force you into uncomfortable, unnatural positions when we wear high heels. We give you blisters. Most of us don’t look after you enough and when we do, we cover parts of you in paint. You work hard. You don’t complain much. As a body part goes, you’re a team player.


I’m trying hard to think of something else I like about you. Really trying.

Look, don’t feel bad, okay? It’s not you, it’s me.

Cheer up! A quick look on Instagram proves how loved you are. Feet in sand. Feet in fancy shoes. Feet in Autumn leaves / snow / on a city street. In a puddle. Feet! They’re everywhere.

And let’s not forget that you have your own fetish for Pete’s sake!

The fact that I had to put a chef’s hat on that bottom (bottom – get it?) picture after searching for #feet is the reason my daughter will not be getting an IG account anytime soon, even if that makes me “so unfair”.


There are even spas dedicated to making you look good. Who else can say that? Is there a special place where we pay money to buff our elbows? Paint our chins? No. That’s all you, feet.

Well, you and hands.

So this is me saying thank you for holding me up and walking me around all of these years. Thanks for not getting any horrible diseases that would cause me to hide you from my sight for the rest of my days, for not smelling, for having normal toes and being an okay shape. I also appreciate that you’re not ticklish because that fact annoys my ticklish husband.

Now that I’m done, I’m not sure that we can call this a love letter.

Let’s just call it a… well, ummm..





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