Thursday, April 24, 2008

Socks: The Enemy

I am going to a dancehall class tonight and I am heading there straight after Uni. So this morning I packed my dance pants, wore a tank top with an appropriate blouse (I like saying blouse because it reminds me of that Dave Chappelle skit with Prince..."game, blouses") over it, slipped on some sneakers and headed out of my apartment.

Here's the problem. I hate socks. It's been an hour and already I want to rip off the socks and shoes and let my toes frolic as they did they day I was born, or at least in an open toed shoe. Sadly, these aren't options unless I run around barefoot, which actually at this moment is sounding increasingly delicious.

My ankle longs for time spent without elastic etched around its circumference. My pinky toe fondly remembers the time when it could stretch freely away from its fellow toes and embrace the open air.

The spaces between my toes ask, nay plead, to be lint free.

The claustrophobia is overwhelming - and it is hours before my feet can breathe again.

No comments:

Post a Comment