so… about feet.
before i start my rant on the most vile part of the human body, i would like to give a recap of what had happened to this blog since the last post.
hmm.. nothing. nothing has happened.
not that it really matters— basically, the three writers of this blog got tied down by school and, like most novel ideas college students come up with, this too went down the gutter. as schoolwork, drama and sleep deprivation piled on, we reverted back to the traditional way of releasing our stress: complaining to anyone who would listen.
it has been almost a year since the last post— since then, we’ve struggled with life choices, relationships and our inevitable maturity. oh… and two of us cut our hair pretty short. that’s pretty much it.
well.. i think that about covers it. i doubt we have any followers now (or… ever) but in case any one’s out there… yup. so it goes.
now… about feet. I HATE THEM.
and no, i don’t discriminate. i don’t like mine either; painting toenails are always a struggle for me. there is one thing i’ve got to say about my feet though— i know they’re clean. for some reason, i’m so anal about my feet that i periodically scrub them clean every time i shower… which averages around to twice a day.
but we’re not here to discuss my borderline-OCD shower habits. no. we’re here to talk about the people who rub their feet on the leather seats at Starbucks.
with my semi-difficult apartment situation (it’s full of my friends; chock full of my wonderful friends who decided that my room is going to be the living room, regardless of the fact that i have a physics exam the coming Tuesday), i run to Starbucks. they play hipster music. my friends/ distractions rarely come here. coffee is never too far away.
but then— the Edenic studying utopia is ruined. by what, you ask? FEET.
feet that belong to two girls. two WONDERFUL girls who
1) won’t stop laughing obnoxiously
2) won’t stop talking 924875298537 decibels louder than everyone else, despite the fact that they are less than 2 feet apart
3) won’t stop CARESSING THEIR FEET ON THE LEATHER SEATS
like… why do you have to do that?
why are both of you compelled to remove your uggs (which you are wearing WITHOUT socks) in a public area? why do you feel it’s okay to proceed to walk around Starbucks barefoot? and finally, why do you rub your feet on the public leather chairs?
other people sit there, you know. other people who would rather not come into contact with the array of microbes you’ve proliferated across the surface of a seemingly harmless leather chair.
i look at them— the chairs they’ve contaminated. sitting on either of those chairs now would be akin to sitting on their nasty feet.
no, thank you.
to the people whose actions instigated the production of “NO SHOES NO SHIRT NO SERVICE” signs.
it’s kind of an issue.
