The Agony of De-Feet

The man did love his woman so
Thrilled with her every touch
But those squeaky shoes she wore
Did darn near drive him nuts

And not to hurt her feelings since
With manners he was bred
He bought her heels and mules in hopes
That she’d wear those instead

And she did thank him kindly but
It seemed that she did choose
To persist donning her feet with
Those same old squeaky shoes

As he was near to his wit’s end
He was a desperate man
And so a last ditch effort he
Devised an evil plan

Some rosebuds and some candlelight
Would serve as a facade
To take away those ghastly things
While giving a massage

And just as she was well relaxed
The cursed things were stashed
Right next to the banana peels
And wrappers in the trash

It seemed his plan worked perfectly
When the massage was done
He feigned shocked ignorance while she
Would search where they had gone

But this poor man would pay a price
For his act of deceit
Revealed not squeaky shoes she had
Instead twas squeaky feet.

images

Advertisements

65 thoughts on “The Agony of De-Feet

  1. Squeaky..it drives me nuts, the floors of our office are finished in some sort of substance and certain shoes of mine sound so obnoxious. …but maybe I’m cursed with a much deeper issue. ..The dreaded squeaky feet, ha ha!

  2. This reminds me of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s story “The Birthmark”. A man marries the perfect woman. But she has a birthmark. The longer they remain married the more it drives him crazy. Until…

  3. I was gonna ask what inspired this one, but it was answered in the comments. It’s such a stupid thing to be embarrassed by, but I always am, if I’m the one with squeaky shoes.

    • Yeah, me too! I don’t really have a lot of shoes that squeak. Usually I’m the one with the noisy shopping cart. You know, I just grab the first one I can find and then if it starts squeaking I don’t care…until it gets real quiet in the grocery store….and I realize I have to steer this thing around for like 20 minutes….

  4. I am chuckling and enjoying this since coming from evening of 10 family members taking a while row to watch the Minions film we are slap happy, Marissa. I love that all about 1968 was in the prequel episode πŸ™‚ πŸ™‚

  5. I went all day without a single word spoken. I thought I’d make it through the evening and then I read this and made the obnoxious, bwaah haaaa haaaa sound, and broke my vow of silence. It was after the third reading and third series of guffaws that I realized I was experiencing happiness. The poem was great and then the ending was spectacular. Now I have one of those face wrecking smiles. πŸ™‚ Thank you, Marissa. You made my day.

    • Happiness…what exactly does that feel like again?? Ha, ha, really, so glad you liked it even though I made you break your vow of silence and now it’s looking bleak for the fraternity…or was it monkhood….?

      • I smile again. I can only speak for myself but when you make me laugh at the computer, I have to exchange my keyboard. While digging in the closet for a keyboard, I can’t see a damn thing because all that smiling and laughing forces my eyes closed. That’s what it feels like. πŸ™‚ Not to worry, I have lots of extra keyboards. I follow a vow of silence because when I talk, ridiculous things are heard. I haven’t figured out how to shut up my fingers so lots of ridiculous things are read when they are done. Like now. My fingers; they are soooo impulsive.

  6. Oh dear!! No matter how many heels he did buy, those squeaky feet will still be there! OH too funny, Marissa!! You are SO funny and your wit brings peals of laughter from my lips!! THANK YOU! Love, AmyRose

The Blood Trail Starts Here...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s