Shoes. I am all for them. Keeps the feet safe, comfortable, and warm. But sexy shoes like the ones to my left? Well, let’s talk. I’ve never been able to wear those spiffy, 6″ stilettos with thin straps over the toes seen in magazines. Even in my youth. I actually don’t understand how the human foot can stay atop them. I’ve tried, believe me. Even when I was much younger, I would totter in them trying to ignore the pain in my back and calf muscles, not to mention my toes. And when I fell off them, I usually would take at least two innocent passersby with me.
This could be because I have what I have come to understand in later life are called Italian peasant feet. Our feet are made for stomping. We don’t even need boots. So get lost, Nancy Sinatra.
Yes, her boots may stomp all over you but ours were made for stomping grapes. Seriously. Strong, broad feet with fat toes. They were perfect for a bathtub full of grapes. I remember my Uncle Dominic used to have a bathtub in his backyard. At harvest time, he would fill the bathtub with ripe grapes from his small vineyard, rip off his shoes, and jump in. Somebody would sing the Tarentella or something like that and he was off and away. Soon my Aunt Rose would join him. I couldn’t wait to jump in. But being a kid I had to wait until my feet grew into the grape-stomping size. They did, but by then Uncle Dominic and Aunt Rose were long gone. I missed my chance. One of these days, I hope to find a bathtub full of grapes and hop in. It’s in the genes.