Barefoot in the snow

I’m wearing sandals into November. I don’t care about being challenged constantly: “Aren’t your feet cold?” “Don’t you know it’s wintertime?” People need more hobbies.

Because I’m a woman and I’m 48 years old, I’m hot all the time. Having my feet out in the cool air gives me a little comfort. (Sometimes I fantasize about standing barefoot in a snow bank.) I might be wearing a sweater and a jacket, just because it’s the season, but don’t look down. I’m wearing flip flops.

At least I’m keeping up with my weekly pedicures and have moved away from fresh and light shades to darker-toned polishes. And why isn’t anyone coming up with flip-flips with some nice tread on the bottom? That could be very handy this winter. I’m sure I’m not the only who would buy them in every color.

One lovely aspect of growing older is that I’m not overly concerned about the ugliness of my feet, anymore. I have accepted them. I used to hide my feet in sweaty sneakers all summer, or wear only closed-toe sandals. Not anymore. Here I am at the beginning of November, still baring my size 11s with their crooked toes and gargantuan bunions.

I’m even sporting a gold toe ring, as if to sneer, “What the heck are you looking at?” to anyone caught staring with horror at my feet. Sort of an in-your-face-with-ugliness thing. My feet offer a new opportunity to say, “Hey buddy, my eyes are up here.”

So, if you’re slogging around this winter and chance to see the prints of bare feet in the snow, that’s just me. I’ll probably have figured out that I can get around pretty well barefoot by gripping the snow with my well-manicured toes.