I have twitchy toes. I’m always wiggling them no matter how relaxed I am and my girls spend way to much fucking time making stealthy recordings of my feet. I guess I should be grateful they aren’t making porn. I have no idea when it started. Maybe I was born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
I can pick things up with my toes and that’s been a lifesaver when I’m all comfy and the thought of moving almost makes you regret life. You know, when you’ve found that perfect, totally relaxed position on the couch and you spy something on the coffee table that you suddenly urgently need? I can pick up the desired object with my toes and bring it to my hand and all I have to move is my one leg. I know that the looks of disgust my family send in my direction when I do this are only masking their true feelings of jealousy. Because guess who’s still in their comfy position? The twitcher.
While we were still in highschool, R-Dolly and I were hanging out and had just finished making some Kraft Dinner. We grabbed a couple of forks, the pot of KD and headed into the living room to watch tv while we ate. The forks were set down on the coffee table and once we settled onto the couch R-Dolly realized she’d left her fork on the coffee table right in front of her. She sighed a sigh filled with the weight of the whole damn world and asked if I could pass her the fork. I looked at how close it was to her and decided that if she didn’t want to move, neither did I. I grabbed the fork handle with my toes and handed (or more accurately, footed) it to her. She looked at it for a second, shrugged, grabbed it and started eating. That’s when I knew that we were going to be friends for life. It’s a true sign of trust when there’s a fork (held firmly between my toes) coming at you from this direction as I slide my calf along the top of my knee until my twitchy toes are dangling the fork over your KD:
I’m also proficient at holding a pen between my big toe and pointer toe and writing my name, which would be totally awkward if I decided to sign all legal documents in public using my toes. “Oh, I need to sign this? Let me get out my pen (I wouldn’t want to use a public pen. Who knows where people’s filthy hands have been???) and my handy-dandy toes and I’ll sign that baby right now.” I would slip off my sandals, wriggle my toes to get them warmed up, slap my foot up on the desk, pick up the pen with my toes and sign my life away. While that would be so much fun for me, I have a feeling that their reaction would be the same reaction my husband gets on his face as my twitchers try to make their way across the couch to rest on his legs. Total and complete fucking horror.
Maybe I ruined him of feet for life because of my twitching. Maybe he was never really a foot person. In the beginning of our relationship, we would be on the couch and he’d let me rest my feet on him. Then, after he made sure that I was trapped/married, he didn’t want my feet on him, anymore. When I asked him why, his response was, “Your twitching toes creep me out.” Huh. I told him I could keep them still and we tried again. I thought I was doing well. I couldn’t feel them moving but he disagreed. I totally didn’t believe him so I asked the girls to take his spot and see if Daddy was just being a little bitch. Apparently, in that instant, he wasn’t because the girls both said they were still twitching. I watched my pretty little toes and they didn’t look like they were moving at all but after three test trials, I admitted defeat.
Thanks to my wonderful husband, my girls are now footophobes. I’ve had to live with the fallout from his foot-loving deception for years. I’ve found a way to ease my troubled mind, though. He’s always the first to fall asleep. So, every night after he falls asleep, I turn off the lights and wait. Like a predator. Once he’s fallen into a deep sleep, I stealthily sneak my toes towards him like a lion stalking it’s prey and touch his leg with my toes. Sometimes he wakes up and looks around all panicky-like but I’ve learned to tell when he’s going to wake up and quickly move my foot back and pretend to be in a deep, blissful sleep. When he doesn’t wake up I leave my toes on him for a minute and let the peace and happiness sink in. Either way, the sneaky grin of revenge is on my face as I fall asleep. Every. Single. Night.