Summer is upon us and it is a cliche of the season to wax longingly about getting through the workweek so you can get your "toes in the sand" and other such romantic beachy drivel. (I should be so lucky! Between my poorly paid work and my unpaid work, life is a neverending workweek). Well, today I did get out to a location with sand and water for a couple hours, and this was mostly lovely except that I was reminded of my pet peeve, the absolute worst feeling in the world, the feeling of sand on my feet. When I was a young kid my parents would get frustrated because I would insist on an elaborate water's edge dance of trying to get my feet clean and into my shoes sand-free before leaving the beach. To this day, sandy feet is my tactile equivalent of nails on a chalkboard, on par with that other terrible summer sensation of sweating in the absence of a workout - blech! I still have to hit the foot-wash station (or do my little dance) before I can put my shoes on and go.
Can Kevin be governor?
1 week ago