Tracks of the North American Little Foot

There's nothing that makes me quite so happy as discovering a new way to torment someone I love, so I was very pleased when I discovered that my friend Cathy is horrified by my feet.



Before you get grossed out, let me assure you: There's nothing wrong with my feet. My OCD wouldn't allow me to run around unwashed, with poorly groomed toes. In the summertime, I even wear polish on my nails. No, what freaked Cathy out about my feet wasn't their condition. It was worse than that. What freaked Cathy out about my feet was how they are, just naturally, which is very wide, very small, and very distinctly, um, articulated in the toe area.



I've always been very proud of my feet. At one time, I could pick up a nickel with my big toe and second toe, almost as easily as I could with my hands. We saw a movie in middle school about a woman who had lost her arms and did everything with her feet, including shop at the supermarket, and although the sight of her kicking through the orange bin kind of gave me pause, I felt a kinship with her. Also, it was nice to think that if I ever lost my arms, I'd be still be okay, and maybe even inspirational.



There's also the fact that my feet are exactly like my sister's and my father's, which gave me a sense of belonging when I was growing up, and also enabled us all to gang up on my mother, who was annoyingly perfect in all other ways. The Hubley Feet were something to be proud of. I'm sure people who are born with a tail feel the same way about their deformity.



Anyway, the other day I was over at Cathy and Isaac's, drinking their booze and eating their food as usual. I'd taken off my shoes and socks, because we were relaxing, and because Cathy and Isaac had taken off their shoes and socks, and because you don't have to impress friends once they've taken to feeding you on a regular basis. All of a sudden, Cathy screamed and pointed to my foot.



I have short legs, so my feet weren't on the floor, just kind of kicking in mid-air. At first, I thought she was pointing to something under me, possibly a mouse, so I sort of shrieked and tucked my feet under me, whereupon Cathy stopped screaming, because it was my feet, my actual feet, that had frightened her.



"The toes," she gasped. "They're...they're totally separate from one another."



"Oh, yeah, they are," I said, wiggling them at her. "They move independently. Like a sea anemone."



I held one foot up, and opened and closed it like a fist. "Do you have a nickel? I might still be able to pick it up off the floor."



"Gaaaah!" She screamed.



"I don't know, though. I'm out of practice."



"Get your horrible foot out of my face, you FREAK."



Whereupon, Isaac came back in from the kitchen and demanded to know why his wife was calling a guest a freak. Whereupon-whereupon, I informed him that I had just drank their last beer, and so was far too rude to be considered a guest. I held up my foot at him.



"We are thirsty, Isaac," I said, in what I thought was a good voice for my foot. "Go to Fernandez Spa and get us some more beer."