Stinky Feet

Okay.  I hate stinky feet.  Hate them.  They completely gross me out.  We were at the movies this morning and had choice seat on the second row from the top.  (My favorite spot.  Much closer and my head can't take it.)  Right about the time the movie started, two early teenish girls came in and sat behind us and over one.  Normally wouldn't bother me.

HOWEVER...

They promptly opened up their cell phones and started texting.  Then, the gross happened.  One of the girls took her tennis shoes off, sans socks, and propped them up on the seat next to me.  I nearly vomited.  The stench was unbelievable.  I shifted.  Turned.  Contemplated.  And then I finally gave in and did something that would have embarrassed my brother to no end.  (He would rather suffer in silence.  Me, not so much.)  I turned around and said, "Excuse me, could you either put your shoes on or scoot down a few seats."

Yeah.  I did it.  I'm not much of a confrontational person.  At all.  I avoid it like the plague.  But what I hate more is puking.  Given the stench, that was a stronger possibility.  So - - I confronted.

She said, "Oh, I'm sorry" and then pulled her feet down.  I appreciated her being compliant with my conditions.  I would like to have been more up front and just told her that her feet smelled like grim death.  But my mama raised me to be more polite than that.  I could still smell the stanky feet.  *gag*

Later, she put her shoes back on and then propped them back up.  That's fine.  The stank was gone.

I assure you - - it was the gnarliest smell ever.  N.A.S.T.Y.

Bobby would have died three deaths before he would have said anything.  He would have died if he'd been there with us.  He would have begged me to move to another spot first.  No way.  I was there first.  (I'm all about principle.  See?)  Many years ago, we were at a restaurant and I didn't like the potatoes they brought me.  I was just going to ask if I could switch them out.  He was mortified!  He offered to switch with me as long as I'd keep my mouth shut.  He hates confrontation more than me.  I would have been polite about the request.  I always am.  But he'd rather just eat cold food, kick the bugs to the side of the plate, smell stinky feet, etc.  He won't say anything.  Me?  If I'm paying for a service - - I'd like to get what I paid for.  I'm also from the school of thought of "It can't hurt to ask."

So, Bobby, I thought about you today when I confronted stinky feet girl.  And I giggled inside for most of the rest of the movie just thinking about how much it would have freaked you out.