In a tiny nutty shell

Shoes cramp my style. My toes are claustrophobic and need the freedom to breathe more than the rank staleness of twice worn sock. Flip flops open the world to possibility. The mudlicious winter coats my toes is gooey, wet slime. But it dries and cakes off. No worries. Toe socks accentuate each individual’s characteristics. Peep toes and strappy knock offs shoot daggers into the balls of my feet. Three inches of cold metal sets me staggering on uneven pavement. Flip flops ground me with nothing but a half inch of rubber. Stubbed toes linger and bathwater runs like a murky dark river.