Five Feet

By , Pewaukee, WI
Just about everyone in my family has different feet. My dad’s feet can never be seen. He acts as if his feet are a rotten piece of meat with a pungent stench. Hidden in socks all day and all night, I wouldn’t be surprised to find some kind of grotesque, green mold forming in between his toes. Andrew’s feet are ignorant. Nails as chipped as a woodpecker’s tree – they don’t take care of themselves the way David’s feet do. David’s feet are perfect. They are like a perfectly groomed Greek goddess. But does he have to pedicure his feet? No. David’s feet are perfect.

My mom’s feet, however, are identical to mine. We both acquire the same stubby toes and wide-set foot. We both have monkey feet – toes that spread as far apart as a Japanese fan. Our feet are another pair of hands. Just like a monkey has “four” hands, so do we. Andrew and David get jealous when we play video games – I always win. But I have an advantage. Not only do I play with my hands, I play with my feet. As my mom cleans, she uses her toes to pick up our clothes. My mom and I enjoy bearing an extra pair of hands.





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