Among the harrowing and/or shocking secrets posted at PostSecret this week is this screed against people with "gross feet" who wear open-toed shoes in public. Well, dayum. I have been subjected to my first hate speech! I feel the need to rise up with my gross-footed brethren, march upon the White House, and demand fairness and equity for hot ugly toes. After all, it's summer. It's hot. Toes get all sweaty and squished inside closed-foot shoes during summertime. People with gross feet know that the sweat and squishing makes those gross feet...well...grosser. Why should people blessed with terrific tootsies by God or nature or the Kozmik All use that beauty to crush those of us not as blessed beneath the heels of their shoes? This is unfair! This is foot-ism, dammit! Do pretty toes carry their owners further, faster, better? No, I say! I dare say my pudgy toes with their fungus-ridden toenails (yes, still, but I haven't really been proactive in dealing with the fungus) can march me carrying a placard of protest just as easily as the dainty toes belonging to that scornful soul danced her to the mailbox. Pooey on you, Ms. Hates-Ugly-Feet! I feel a class-action lawsuit under the anti-discrimination laws coming on. The only fair way to deal with this is for all people to wear work boots all summer long. That way, no-one knows if the toes are pudgy or pretty, and all people's toes are hot and sweaty no matter how pretty they are. Okay, now that my harangue is done, what gives? Do people really spend their precious summer hours staring at other people's feet and toes, judging them like it's the Foot Olympics? Strolling along the sidewalk in the park, is someone's soul really filled with hatred at the sight of my plebian feet in their shabby Tevas as I play with the dotter? I admit I like a nicely turned pair of strappy high-heels on feet with a nice pedicure, bright red nail polish gleaming in the sun. On other people's feet. It just ain't gonna happen here. First off, it's been so long since I've worn high-heels that my wonky ankle will wobble right off that oh-so-sexy heel, landing me in a painful pile on the sidewalk. The highest pair of heels I've worn in eight years is about an inch-and-a-half high. (The wedding pumps were 2-1/2 inches high.) Secondly, my toenails are beyond redemption. The only way to get my toenails to look nice and gleaming and polished is for me to indulge in a highly expensive set of fake toenails. Given the fungus-promoting capacity of such things, you can bet that I'm not going to do that. While I love Great Grandma dearly, this is something that she would embrace. To her, wearing "ugly" clothes ranks right up there with Original Sin. Having been brought up by Beatnik parents, who had some quite scruffy looking friends who were damned interesting and lots of fun to be with, the tendency to judge others by how well put-together their outer shell is was sort of brainwashed out of me. Oh, I appreciate "kemptness" and cleanliness, trust me. And I do have my limits on how non-judgmental I am. But if I'm with interesting and fun people, I'm not going to be wasting my time staring at their feet and deciding if they should be hung by their toes because they're exposing my tender sensibilities to their ugly feet.