It’s 12.37am and I’m sitting here, writing this, and stalking people on Twitter, and yawning a bit, and picking the skin on my feet.
DISGUSTING BEHAVIOUR KLAXON.
Not the stalking. That’s legit. I mean the picking of skin. On my FEETS. Feet are farking heinous. This is a FACT. I am not a fan of feet in any way, shape, or be-toed form. The thought of foot skin – dried, yellowing, crunchy old foot skin – is making me barf a bit in my mouth as I think about it. So why do I pick at my feet? If it makes me feel so squeamish?
Habit, I guess. I can cope with my own feet. However, I cannot – PHYSICALLY CANNOT – run away screaming from my own feet. That is a nonsense. But other people’s feet? Oh my farking gawd, no. Do not come at me with your feet. Do not presume to wave them afore my eyes. I will not claim to turn uber-violent upon the presentation of your feet into my immediate sphere, but yeah, I will END YOU WITH DEATH if you try that lark. You foot weirdo.
Feet! I dunno why! It’s the toes! They’re AN ODD SHAPE. Tinily phallic, and not in a good way. And way too wiggly. Sometimes, too independently wiggly, as if they were not related to the rest of the human being at all?
Most people DO NOT keep their feet in acceptable condition. Now here’s where I get dead squeamish. Y’know those Ped-Egg ads on TV? Where the person SHAVES THEIR FEET INTO A BIN? Yeah. YEAH. That’s it. Ped-Eggs are basically cheese graters for your feet. VOM O’CLOCK. Dead foot skin is my Kryptonite. Which I probably should not admit on my blog, but y’all won’t get near me with it anyways. I can sense dead foot skin from miles away and take the necessary precautions, that is to say, arm myself with weapons that will hurt you permanently, if you try to throw dead foot skin in my face. I’M READY FOR YOU, you bastards.
The bile is rising. Seriously. So squeamish. Some other things that make me shudder and go ‘eeeeewwwwwww’ are:
- needles, going INTO skin, and maybe also going straight through and coming out the other side
- bin juice/sink crap/plughole hair
- stepping on slugs/snails/raisins (the fulsome ‘squish’)
- other people’s eye crap (for the LOVE OF GOD, wipe your eyes)
- vomit. Jeezus, all vomit. Ever. Can’t do it. EVER. Just the idea of it is making me BOAK which is a CRUEL IRONY
Ack, y’know, this whole blog post is now making me feel oh-so-queasy. I have to stop. I have to stop, and mostly cos I need to go and file the hard, calcified skin off from the bottom of my heel. With a cheese grater. Ahem.
What makes you squeamish? Try not to sick in my face.