A couple of days ago, we were driving with the AC on. I was just beginning to think, "It sure is beautiful out here in the country" when I smelled dead flesh. I didn't see anything on the road and wondered what was in the woods only to be alerted by my daughter, "There's dirt on my toes!" Sick! I immediately made her put her shoes back on. Shoe on, no stench. Gross!
When someone asked one of my sisters what kind of "dirt" she could give on me, she had to think about it. I'm glad to know that the only "dirt" my sister could think of was that when I was younger, my feet were extremely stinky. We aren't talking that corn chips smell. We ARE talking stinking dead flesh smell. It's rather gross and only got worse as a missionary (you try keeping those feet smelling good while walking around in nylons in leather shoes in high temperatures in Vegas!). It isn't so bad now, especially as I go barefoot or socked-only most days.
However, we also now know that the condition is hereditary. My sister Susan was nearly asphyxiated yesterday as my oldest cuddled up on the sofa next to her. I have to make sure she puts on socks every day because I can guarantee she will shove on her favorite boots (entirely too warm for this weather to start with!). Stinky, smelly, sweating feet in fuzzy boots equals nasty, really gross dead-flesh-stank on unveiled feet.
1 comment:
Bwa ha ha!! Love it! On my mission in Tucson, the mission president's wife actually told us to quit wearing nylons because she about died when she had to. I can't tell you how much that saved us.
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