Footsie.

I have achieved a meta-Uncomfortable Moment, wherein I created discomfort by describing something that makes me uncomfortable.

Here's the thing: I don't like to be touched by feet, whether bare or shod. In the case of bare feet, I rarely run into a foot that meets such standards of temperature, moisture, texture and cleanliness such that I wish to have it applied anywhere on my person. To those who do not understand my problem, I might say, how would you like to have a damp chamois cloth that has been used to mop the floor resting comfortably on your knee as you watch TV? What about an alligator's claw, just removed from the freezer, wedged into your calf as you lie in bed?

As for being touched by others' shoes, I brought this up among friends one night at the Big Hunt, specifically with regard to my pet peeve, which is people who, while sitting next to me, cross their legs so that the crossing leg's foot dangles dangerously close to mine. It's like that kid in the commercial who holds his finger an inch from his sister's face and says, "I'm not touching you," only it has the added peril of shoe dirt. I relayed animatedly, for what I thought was comic effect, how nervous I get when another person's shoe is THISCLOSE to my captive leg.

No one at the table laughed or indicated any understanding. Instead I was met with silence and blank stares, perhaps stares tinged with pity. I wanted to put my foot on all of them.