The Agony of De Feet

Fall is finally here; it’s my favorite season of all!  The smells. The colors. The sweaters. The crisp air. The pumpkins. The corn stalks. The costumed tiny humans. The darkness at bedtime.  The crunchy footsteps. The festivals. The apples. The turkeys. Important birthdays. An anniversary.  I love it all!  Even my legs are rejoicing that it’s Fall.  “We’re ensconced in jeans!  No more shaving!” they gleefully exclaim.

But not all of me is happy it’s Fall.  My feet are grieving. They can’t breathe in the socks I had to wrestle them into.  They beg to know what crime they’ve committed to deserve imprisonment within my sneakers.  “We were meant to be free!” they cry out.  “You have banished our soul (or is it sole?) mates to the back of the dark closet!  Your flip-flops will rot in there and their death will be on your head!”

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