This is a “sampler”. You know how your cool artist friend has a sketch book with pages of sample drawings? Okay, this is just like that, only with words. It came to me last night while watching my son, Thor, play basketball.
Her toenails were so pretty. Shining bright with a color that was a mix between safety orange and bubblegum pink. Her feet looked soft in the dainty sandal slip-ons. There was not one rough patch on her heels. She tossed her foot up and down while watching the teenaged boys play basketball.
I looked down at my feet. My toenails were painted a shade one notch lighter than a Robin’s egg. The polish had chipped on all of my toenails, except for two. My heels were eighty-grit sandpaper. I had black highlight around all my toes. It was dirt from pulling weeds earlier in the day. In truth, my feet look like this until mid-October. Even wearing shoes with socks my feet are stained from the earth. I do not wear cute sandal slip-ons, I wear Birkenstocks.
She probably wears a soft floral perfume that came in a box from under a counter. My patchouli is roll-on from the food co-op. Her outfit looks expensive and impeccable. My skirt has bright multicolored flowers and fruit while my top has pink polka-dots. Both of which came from the thrift shop. She has the perfect hair coifed in the latest style. The bob-cut on top of my head is unruly, splaying out in all directions.
Mesmerized by her perfect feet, I watch as her bright colored toenails continue to keep time with the boys running up and down the gym. I remind myself that the dirty feet which sit beneath me have climbed hundreds of trees, sank in the mud of an old and forgotten swimming hole and the dirt was organic and from the earth.
Chris Writes 