Spring has sprung, and with Spring comes the Jesus sandal wearers in our office. I have never been an advocate for a business casual dress code, deeming it demeaning to the otherwise austereness of employment; however, even being submissive to this contemporary trend, I still protest the permissive donning of open-toed sandals.
Cracked, calloused heels. Thick, yellow toenails. Bunions, blisters and hammer toe. Cheesy buildup. Pasty, ashen white feet. Unfortunately for me, Saul’s feet display almost all of these combinations of atrocities. One word: “Gross.” Despite my repeated hints, Saul forces the rest of us to suffer through his podiatric peculiarities, which is simply wrong. For the female readers: Ladies, no 12-dollar French pedicure can hide the fact that your twisted toes are slithering past the ends of your strappy stilettos and leaving scratch marks on the linoleum. For the male readers, including Saul: Guys, only two men in history could make sandals work: Jesus and Spartacus—and one of them was a back scrubber at a Roman bath house. If you’re not the Son of God, save yourself the embarrassment and the rest of us the nausea by hiding your hairy buckshanks in a pair of decent-looking sneakers. No one wants to see your feet.
Cracked, calloused heels. Thick, yellow toenails. Bunions, blisters and hammer toe. Cheesy buildup. Pasty, ashen white feet. Unfortunately for me, Saul’s feet display almost all of these combinations of atrocities. One word: “Gross.” Despite my repeated hints, Saul forces the rest of us to suffer through his podiatric peculiarities, which is simply wrong. For the female readers: Ladies, no 12-dollar French pedicure can hide the fact that your twisted toes are slithering past the ends of your strappy stilettos and leaving scratch marks on the linoleum. For the male readers, including Saul: Guys, only two men in history could make sandals work: Jesus and Spartacus—and one of them was a back scrubber at a Roman bath house. If you’re not the Son of God, save yourself the embarrassment and the rest of us the nausea by hiding your hairy buckshanks in a pair of decent-looking sneakers. No one wants to see your feet.
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