I was shopping on Friday at a different grocery store than my usual one. As I was wheeling my cart along, one of the employees pointed at my feet and said, “You’re in the wrong store.”
But I bet it’s not what you think.
Going out shopping barefoot can sometimes be a bit of a crap shoot. If you are going to a new place, you never really know what to expect. But that can also be true of places that you shop at regularly, since there might be a pelmatophobe on duty that day who causes trouble.
But other times it can be gratifying when store employees simply express interest.
Fear and Breastfeeding in Las Vegas is the name of a blog entry from The Leaky Boob, a “lactivist” (love the word) blog about breastfeeding. It’s a great story (go read it) of a breastfeeding mother standing up to a restaurant in Las Vegas that questioned her breastfeeding of her child there.
I also think it is related to barefooting (though, of course, I can find that just about everything is related to barefooting).
It can be frustrating being a barefooter (NSS). It seems that there is always somebody around who not only has bought into the myths, but also feels that it is their duty to enforce those myths.
We’ve seen that with my library lawsuits.
But on the other side, progress is made. After one goes barefoot for a while one becomes known throughout one’s life as one who never (or rarely) wears shoes, and there will be people who are sympathetic (or sometimes, amazingly, even admiring). They will note one as “their” customer. And they will even accommodate barefooting.
I’ve had a few of those, including one last Friday.
In a comment to “Smiley: Barefoot Australian Boy”, Victor asks:
Watching movies like this, I always ask myself a bitter question: how come that my generation, and myself as a child, were deprived of such a natural and great thing as going barefoot everywhere? Why did all those hangups about bare feet develop?
I have a possible theory.
As I was exiting the Observatory Circle after at the Octagon Open House after my Mound Walk, there were a whole bunch of nuts on the golf cart pavement. I had somebody ask me, “Do you know what kind of nuts those are?” “Hickories, probably pignut hickories.” “Thanks. Aren’t those rather hard to step on?” “I just don’t step on them, but even if I do (I said as I stepped on one), it’s not much trouble. My foot folds around it.”
But there are some nuts . . .