What is going on in this picture? I took it myself, so I, my dear friend, can tell you all the lovely psychological drama that prompted the documentation of this seemingly insignificant pair of feet. I went to Germany last week. First time. I went armed with my book on World War II, my love of sauerkraut, and a pair of mis-matching socks. One sock having a hole in the toe. When I arrived to my German host family’s house, my small seeded stereotype inflated, like a blow up beach-ball. Order, Cleanliness, Efficacy all erupted at once, suffocating my disorganized eastern European habits. Within five seconds of walking into the house the host father, had replaced his street shoes with “house sandles,” and quickly offered me a pair in my size. I felt under prepared and incredibly nervous to follow suit, for I was wearing mis-matching holey socks. There was no place for my feet in this German household. I tried to stall time. I said I wanted to walk around outside, and I quickly calculated how far the nearest drugstore was. Too far, and my German too poor, and thus, after a 20min stroll I relinquished my footsies from my boots to the raised eyebrow of all the family. I sheepishly smiled. How quickly our feet can give us away.
