Take off those footie pajamas

Maybe I'm just feeling a little randy today. Because, I seem to be in some sort of sick minority.

Last night, I put on my rucksack, pith helmet, and Glock 9mm and headed out to the mall. During my travels (and after fighting a Mall Santa for a piece of some little kid's candy cane) I spotted a particularly...intriguing...advertisement in one of those Mall Store windows. Bigger than life, an unshaven man, backlit with amber light, kissing a woman's bare foot.

Now, let me go on record here...I do not have a foot fetish. There are internet porn sites, adult video stores, and back-alley, black market, black-ops dealers who sell nothing but foot porn. There are consumers for that product, and I am not one of them.

Nevertheless, there is something to say about the foot. Certain feet, at least.

I'm not going to go into my many arguments about how the foot is a taboo part of the body, and how we never see it, and how neat is it when somebody feels comfortable enough to take off their shoes around you.

But think on this for a moment: Picture a man or woman (your choice), standing in a blank room, completely naked except for a pair of argyle socks. Wouldn't you really prefer to have those socks in a hamper somewhere?

I spent months in college debating the politeness of wearing socks during sex (I'm against it, by the way). I never could come up with a hard and fast rule or any logical reasoning for my assertions. One of my colleagues just came up with the rule for me.

During a moment of extreme intimacy:
"The only time socks are appropriate is when you're your wearing pants. If the pants are coming off, the socks come off first."

Indeed.

Maybe I am a sicko. Maybe my mind is in the gutter.

Or maybe, just maybe everyone of my friends is too repressed.

Or maybe I am a sicko.

[Editor's note: Everyone head over to the casbah and wish a very happy girl good wishes. Her boy is about to make an honest woman of her.]