Social Responsibility

My good friends and former roommates, Barb and Christy, always used to despair this time of year.

I know. It's hard to understand why, just when the lovely season that is spring would be getting underway, they would despair. The air was warming. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The bees were buzzing. The grass was turning green and the flowers were starting to bloom. Life is wonderful come April, no?

Well, not for them it wasn't.

Why? you ask. Well, that's a good question and I'm glad you asked it. You see, Babs and Christy were, at that stage of the game, budding fashionistas. They were learning the ropes of fashion. They were learning what were good grooming habits and what were not good grooming habits. They eventually came to the conclusion that it is the social responsibility of every woman who wears sandals to have her toes painted and her feet in good working condition. That these women were letting our side down if they didn't get a pedicure before succumbing to the desire to wear airy shoes. I laughed them off for years, but now, well, I wholeheartedly agree with them. It is the social responsibility of every woman who wears sandals to have her feet in good working order because....

...if I have to see yet another woman walking around in a $300 pair of mules with nasty-ass scaly heels hanging off the back of said mules, I'm going to puke!

This action, to put it quite bluntly, is disgusting. Do you get it, ladies? Your heels are disgusting! You may think they're not that bad, but trust me, they are! I don't want to see it. I really, really don't. I doubt men do, either. If your feet repulse you; if they bring to mind the "To The Pain" speech from The Princess Bride because you're afraid that someone is going to scream, "Dear God, what is that thing?" you probably shouldn't be wearing sandals or mules, no? I'm sure The Manolo he would agree with me.

It consistently surprises the Kath that here in the fair fiefdom of Cake Eater Land, where you cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a spa (and I really mean that. there are eight---count 'em---eight spas within walking distance of the Cake Eater Pad) that there are the women who do this. And the Kath is not talking about the poor women here. The Kath is talking about the rich bitches who drive the Lexus' and the Beemers and carry the Prada handbags. These women walk into the grocery store, wearing lovely mules that the Kath would love to be able to afford and wear, and hanging off the back end of the lovely mules are heels that would make a baby scream in horror.

The Kath she begs you to get a pedicure. If you cannot afford the pedicure, the Kath beseeches you to give yourself one. The Kath she begs you to take a bath and to take one of these things with you when you do. The Kath she begs you to buy some of this stuff and to start using it every day, twice a day. But mostly, the Kath she begs you not to wear the sandals or the mules until you do these things so she does not have to look at your nasty feet in the shoes that she covets.

Posted by Kathy at April 7, 2005 01:06 PM