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Raven -> How biggz yo' pe...err...feetz? (4/15/2008 1:13:11 PM)
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Responsible parent that I am, I try to expose my son to the critical elements of American culture. To that end we begin our weekends together with what I like to call "Basic Mall Rat Training"(BMRT). Friday last, while at the food court, waiting to get our happy meals on, I noticed my boy eyeballin' a gaggle of Pretty Young Things (PYT's). I peeped his line-of-sight to discover a female, of Latin descent, with what appeared to be two ice-cream cones, with erasers on their tips, poking through the fabric of her hOllistEr t-shirt. My son's mammary fetish notwithstanding, what makes the event noteworthy is that the young lady in question was, in turn, staring, open-mouthed, tounge out and panting, at my Timberlands. I've got big feet and you know what they say about guys with big feet...
So anyway, later that night I was driving across the desert, mile after mile, en route to D'Ravensloft (my mountain retreat) pondering what I'd seen. It occurs to me that, what with all the drama-rama we've had here lately, and my own exposition of my deepest darkest, we could use a little levity, if not off-color brevity. I figure we could all rally up by shoe size. Don't be shy.
I wear a size thirteen.
Laters, taters.
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