Grubby

Did I ever tell you about spinning class? It was really fun, so great, great teacher, I loved it, etc.

But that's not the part I want to tell you about today. Today I want to tell you about my classmate, who greatly resembles the mole in the above picture.

And before you go thinking I'm really mean, harsh on my sex, critical, and so forth, let me explain:

Ms. Mole was the bohemian type. So artsy. She was an art major at some point, and would never let us forget it. She had studied the color wheel, so her yarn color combos were far superior to ours. Though only in her early twenties, she had taught pottery, so she naturally knew everything about any art even remotely involving spinning of any type. All these behaviors, I can overlook and forgive. They may not have been pleasant, but I tried to view them as quirky. You know, the "takes all types" mentality.

What I absolutely could not forgive (and where the mole enters this story) were Ms. Mole's feet.

Yep, you knew this post had to do with feet. Don't so many of my posts have to do with critters or feet?

Ms. Mole's feet greatly resembled the dirt-clad, filthy toes of the squirming mole in my attached picture (which I found on the internets, in case you thought I captured a mole to squeeze and photograph).

What makes this infraction worse is that our teacher exclaims on the first day of class, "I hate socks, and I love to spin barefoot!" So everyone took off their shoes. All at once. A toe parade.

You can probably imagine the instantaneous panic that clenched my very soul. As soon as those shoes were off, I made a quick but thorough survey (as only I can do) of all the cheeses in the room. And down the row I saw: Nicely polished, old but clean, obviously neglected but not disgusting, MOLE TOES!!!! AAAAAACK!!!!, and not too bad.

And if you are beginning to fret about how I lived through spinning class with Mole Toes in the same room with me for 2.5 hours every week for six weeks.....it gets infinitely worse!

Shortly after proclaiming her love for barefoot spinning, our teacher announces that this week we'll take home the wheel we're using tonight. Next week, we'll bring the wheel home and trade. Great. Communal cheese spinning class. That's just fabulous. I'm beginning to wish I had a foot allergy so I could be like all those hellicopter parents with their peanut-allergic offspring :"Toes must not be in a 12-foot radius of me, or I might die of anaphalactic shock. Also, Toes must not touch anything I have to touch, or I'll have a violent seizure, and you'll all feel responsible for it when I'm in the hospital comatose."

I am unfortunately not so lucky. No one would buy that. And though I believe I am nearing neurosis-level pathological phobia of feet, I bet people wouldn't care about that, either.

So, I spent much of class worrying about my safety, glancing at mole toes, planning my funeral so My Mr. wouldn't have to, and sweating.

I can tell you that I wore slippers every day in spinning class. And when I took a new wheel home with me, I immediately wiped it down with disinfectant Windex.

And I continued to wonder how Ms. Mole's feet could have possibly ever, ever, ever gotten that dirty. I mean, at least the real mole has an excuse! He has to dig in the dirt just to survive!!