Blair's Latest Revelation

"It smells like sour milk!!" shouts the teenage gap employee.  "No, that smell is nasty feet!!" shouts a customer awaiting a dressing room.  "No, I really think it's sour milk" retorts the employee. "Gosh, where is that coming from?  Do you have another dressing room down on the other end?" Coughing.

Faint coughing turns to loud coughing.
Then Silence.

And it was at this point that I hit rock bottom. My feet had taken a turn for the worse. In the Gap changing room, I stared down at my feet, dressed in black church socks.  These seemingly harmless entities had essentially contaminated the rear-quarters of the GAP.
Never at a party had I been shy to remove my shoes at the door.  Never before had I been timid to try on shoes at any store.  I was confident.  Why shouldn't I be?  I knew the 10 little piggies down below were always covered with matching, clean, and free-of-odor socks.  But, last sunday, at the Gap in East Hampton, I was confronted with the realization that it was my feet that permeated the Gap with the 'sour milk' scent.  I was now the 'nasty feet' guy.

As I came out of the dresser room it was like the walk of shame.  Sneers pointed in my direction all the way to the register.  I heard a voice, like that of Winona Ryder's saying, "don't pay, just run for it!"  Yet, I endured the looks from the clean-socked folk.

But, I suppose that we all have our sparatic 'stanky feet' day.  We're entitled to it: you work hard and every now and again your feet have to let a little steam off as well, if you will.  But, sadly, it did not end there.

I sat at my desk today and kept saying to myself, with the brash arrogance of old,: "somebody's feet stink!"  All day long I would look around and came to the conclusion it must be the person on the other side of the cube from me. 

Who sits there, you may wonder?...  no one. 

Then it hit me faster than Billy Joel driving on the Long Island Expressway: my feet have been stinking all day--so bad that the odor has penetrated my leather boots. 

In summary, my days of innocence are over. 

No longer will I be the considerate friend taking off my shoes at your doorstep. 

I stink.  My feet have taken a turn for the worse and have not informed my brain.  There is a rebellion occurring within me- and it's South of the Mason-Dixon line. 

Break out your gun rack, because these babies are coming out firing!