Lyndsay, my lovely wife, doesn’t like feet. And by “doesn’t like,” I mean “despises and is repulsed by.” I don’t understand why. I spent some time thinking about it today…and the more I think about it, the less it makes sense.

First…she’s a nurse. She tells stories about people bringing her their fingers in a bag. And she laughs while she tells them. It’s disgusting! But how different are messed up hands and messed up feet? I don’t see much of a difference. Especially not enough of a difference where it is okay to laughingly recall memories of detached fingers while not wanting to be within three yards of a perfectly healthy foot.

Putting the nurse thing aside, I know that she’s not the only person on earth with this “foot-phobia.” I’ve met other people before who echo her ill will towards feet. She is not alone.

But here is the greatest mystery of all: She has no aversion whatsover to the ground. She walks on it. I’ve seen her bend over and touch it every now and then. I’ve even seen her sit on it. Once I even watched her roll down a big grassy hill inside Samford’s football stadium (though that was mostly because the cardboard box she was attempting to ride stuck to the ground at the top and catapulted her forward).

So let’s recap: Okay with the ground…okay with people, above the ankle…what is wrong with feet?