Greg hates feet.

Even worse, he hates the thought of rubbing my feet, or anyone elses. He just doesn’t do it.

Last night, Mom and I were talking and I said, “Let’s trade foot rubs,” which proceeded to completely gross Greg out. He even looked at Mom and said, “You’re gonna touch those things?”

I would never say I’ve been a huge fan of my feet. In fact, the word “huge” is the best way to describe them. In addition to being big, they are flat. No arches. None.

Last night, I told Mom that I certainly inherited my feet from Dad. She agreed. Dad’s feet were just as flat, just as long.

Now that my Dad is gone, I’m going to appreciate my ten toes on these “stilts” of mine. Who we are is a combination of various traits from our parents. You get the good with the bad.

I’ll walk a little prouder from now on.