A Discourse on Unavailable Men

A timely tale of a tale as old as time. Rockstars, married guys, married rockstars and just plain, 'ol emotional man-babies. For me, it's getting old. Also, a bit on my irrational fear of men's feet.

Maybe I don’t want a real boyfriend. Maybe I want an imaginary one who will never hurt me. He’ll never disappoint or annoy me with the way he communicates poorly and does a weird sucking thing with his teeth when he finishes eating. I’ll never have to hear him chew, cough or snore. I’ll never get sliced clean through, when after falling in love and making a commitment, I discover he’s been flirting heavily with a woman like me - though a newer, more exciting, shimmering mirage version. And never, will I ever have to lay eyes upon his bare feet.

I am so afraid to look at man-feet. It’s not like there’s anything about them in particular. It’s more… the mystery of the unknown makes me all squirmy.

I suppose I have man-foot trauma. One time, my dad invited his weird friend to join us on a family picnic with my brother and me, in Malibu. As we unpacked our spread and arranged it on the blanket, my dad’s weird friend yanked off his shoes and socks and began to CLIP HIS TOENAILS. His crusty D…