don't bury me with my boots on

Man, I hate shoes.

This is a picture of my feet in their natural state, on a trip I took to Naples, Florida, possibly the retirement village of the eastern seaboard. They are completely naked, which is wonderful in and of itself, but they are also cooled by the soothing waters of the Lazy River at the timeshare we were staying in. We go there when the timeshare is nearly empty, we have the pool almost entirely to ourselves, and we pretend we do not work for a living. Are you jealous yet? I completely endorse the experience.

Anyway, with all the commercials you see of women sitting around cafe tables, giggling and oogling over some pair of shoes a friend got at a fantastic price, you can probably understand how the footwear admission might make me feel less than girly. In fairness, though I do have a few friends with closets full of more shoes than I could ever keep track of, I don't think we've ever gathered after a full day of shopping just to compare notes on what kind of deal we got on footwear. Here's usually how the conversation goes:

"Those are nice shoes! Where did you get them?"

"I found them at (insert store name here because no one is paying me for an endorsement)."

"I have good luck there too. I need to borrow those."

"I got them last week, only paid $18 for them."

"Wow, I need to stop by there."

And that's about it. Then we're onto other topics. I hope that doesn't shatter someone's image of what women actually talk about when they're alone, but for me, it's kind of a relief. Because when someone tells me they like my shoes, it's rare. Why? Because I find one pair and wear them until the sole is falling off and the sides are sagging. That's because the thought of going back out to WILLINGLY BUY something I hate is not a topic I enjoy. In fact, I sound much like a Republican talking about paying taxes while a Democrat is in office.

I have four pairs of shoes I wear on a regular basis. That's up from the usual two. I don't know exactly how many pairs I own, but it's less than 10. And there's a spot in my office where I can usually find them all. Do you know why I put them there and not in my room? Because I can't wait to get all the way to my room to get them off my feet. In fact, I usually take them off in the car once I have closed the door.

This isn't going to come to a surprise to my parents. I don't think I have ever liked shoes, even as a small kid. I guess being born on a pacific island could explain some of that. I had no need for shoes. And when I did (for example, when we moved to Missouri), I had to wear a wedge in my shoe for a while. A note to pediatricians: this is not a great way to introduce footwear.

Anyway, I suppose those things contributed to my distaste, but I'll be honest, I don't remember those things at all. I'm speaking in the present. I hate shoes. They are hot. They make my feet sweat. They mean it's time to go somewhere. They are uncomfortable. I don't care how many times you say you've found a comfortable pair of shoes; it's not really true. It means they are less painful and less binding than the last pair. It doesn't mean you want to be buried in them.

And by the way, my dad has said for years that he doesn't want to be buried with dirt on his face, so please cremate him. Here's my weird request. Don't bury me with shoes on. I can't imagine a worse way to enter the afterlife, stuck in a box unable to sit up and kick off my shoes.

Please, don't forget this. I want to meet my maker in the naked feet I entered this world with. Don't let me down.

--Laura