Socks

I cannot wait to rid myself of socks. I don't like socks. They make feet look as if they were one complete thing and make toes lose their identity. Socks are so mumsy, frumpy, probably like the bloomers, our ex-headmistress Sr. David used to wear when I was at St. Joseph school. Well, no that doesn't do them justice, socks compared to Sr. David are pure erotica. I wonder if she's heard of laser hair removal by now. My guess is she hasn't. But socks somehow always remind me of her. Bad thought, bad bad thought. And no matter how sock manufacturers try to make their product cute, I really can see nothing attractive about socks. I have ten toes, beautiful ones may I add, so why should they live in such confinement? Poor toes, I think they must hate me during the winter, but I try and make up for it during the summer. There is one thing I like about summer (except for holidays of course), and that is the beauty of being able to go sock-less. And sock-less I go. I do not own one pair of summer shoes which do not show off my toes. Toes can be sexy, and I'm not talking about foot-fetishes. I do not go about admiring other people's feet. And thanks a lot but no thanks I do not like licking or sucking anybody's toes. That idea is a bad one, it makes my stomach churn. I like my own. It's a very Narcissistic type of foot-fetish I suffer from. Because I call a spade a spade, I will never win a beauty-butt competition, but I will carry the trophy off a beauty-toe competition. They are so perfect, and I make sure to give them loads of TLC. I also paint them in all the shades of the rainbow. Because toes might be a tiny percentage as compared to the rest of the body. But then so are the most revered phalli.